


Weapon Of The Vulgar

by Ice20



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Booker | Sebastian le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Friendship, Break Up, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, M/M, Major Character Injury, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Needs a Hug, POV Alternating, Past Domestic Violence, Recovery, Slow Burn, implied Andy/Quynh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ice20/pseuds/Ice20
Summary: This isn't violence, he repeated to himself for the hundredth time. Steven was his boyfriend and this was lovemaking, even if it left Nicky with finger-shaped bruises on his arms and hips, and with a backache that lasted for days. A fat tear rolled down his cheek at a particularly brutal thrust. This isn't violence.He wondered why it felt like it.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nicky | Nicolo di Genova / Steven Merrick
Comments: 231
Kudos: 455





	1. So many people suffer from abuse, and suffer alone.

**Author's Note:**

> "Abuse is the weapon of the vulgar" - Samuel Griswold Goodrich.
> 
> Please, read the warnings and proceed with caution.  
> This chapter contains:  
> \- mentions of domestic abuse  
> \- mentions of psychological abuse  
> \- implied physical abuse.
> 
> As usual, there's no beta and all mistakes are mine. I apologize, but I'm not a native English-speaking persob.  
> Kindly point out any eventual typo and I will do my best to correct them promptly.
> 
> The titles of each chapter are quotes about abuses of different kinds and from various authors.

Joe reached the office on Tuesday at half past eight, mumbling the words of the latest hit he'd heard on the radio as he walked up the stairs to the first floor, where his office was located. He was carefully balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and a computer bag filled to the brim with documents in the other.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he pushed open the glass door separating the company he worked for from the rest of the building, and went down the short corridor. His office was at the end of it; it was one of the only five rooms they had. In front of them was Nile's and Quynh's work space, still empty; down the corridor nearer the entrance were two smaller rooms and their occupants were already at work, if the lights in both of them were of any indication. The fifth space was used for meeting and, occasionally, eating in.

“Paragraph 5.4 of the specification states that there's a requirement for the cable tray to be painted, therefore we included it in our proposal. If the End User doesn't need it, we can propose the cable tray as per manufacturer's standard and the painting can be bought for an optional price upon request.”

Joe slowed down near the door of Nicky's office as he heard his voice. The lack of a reply from his interlocutor as well as the early time told him that he was on the phone with someone residing on the other side of the world. Despite their dimensions, the company was internationally renowned. The walls of the offices were made of glass, cleaned and polished every early morning by a specialized company hired for this specific purpose. There were white shades in place to guarantee privacy when needed, and Nicky's were drawn, but his door was still open.

“Good to know. But we will perform it without a FROSIO-patented inspector, if you agree. That could actually be an important cost saving for you, sir.” Joe heard some sheets being moved and a drawer being closed.

He continued walking and reached his office, where Booker was already at work.

“Good morning,” he greeted.

“Hey,” was Booker's short reply.

Joe just shrugged and switched on his computer, still mumbling that song. He was used to Booker's silences, knowing fully well how engrossed in his work he could get. He switched on his laptop, connecting it to the monitor and the wireless computer mouse. Booker was their system engineer and the only French person Joe sincerely liked to have around. They had been sharing the office ever since Joe had joined the company, a little over two years before. He had been assigned the desk in front of Booker and they had slowly built a good friendship that majorly consisted of Thursday night dinners at either of their places as they watched football matches – their rented apartments were in the same building on the same floor, they'd discovered very soon.

There actually was a third desk in the room, which had been unoccupied ever since he could remember; they used it to stack their stuff, Joe's in a neat pile whereas Booker's was a mess. He didn't mind it: he liked his co-worker, their different styles and approaches to work and life, and the quiet they shared through most of the day, knowing that outside the working hours Booker was one of the funniest people he knew.

Not long after him, Quynh and Nile arrived, too, and the morning passed quickly. He was in the middle of calculating the spare I/O cards needed for a PLC when Andy walked into their room. She was dashing in her charcoal tailleur suit, her Greek beauty only highlighting her fine features, making them even sharper in a way that perfectly suited her. She was beautiful in a way that would have made Joe fall head over heels, had he not been attracted to Nicky ever since he had met him.

“Hello Boss.”

“Andy. You look stunning.”

“Hello,” she greeted them both. She was the founder of the company, but most of all, she was a good friend. Beneath her steely appearance was a caring and generous woman who enjoyed the company of her friends whenever possible, and who also never feared taking a risk if she thought it would be worth it. She had hired Joe at the end of their very first meeting, and had insisted that no formalities were necessary ever since. She was essentially the big sister they all looked up to. “Nicky and I are going meet a potential Client on the other side of the city. We should be back early, but if we're late would one of you mind helping Nile prepare the conference room for tomorrow morning?”

Booker in front of his groaned, and Joe smirked. “Sure thing. But what's happening tomorrow? Do we have a Client coming over?”

“Not a Client, but a potential partner. I want to evaluate them before I commit to anything, and to do that, Skype isn't enough.”

Andy loved technology, she actually spent like 90% of her time skyping, emailing, or video-calling their Clients and Partners, but she believed that nothing like sitting in front of a person physically and not only hearing what they had to say, but also observing the way they acted and how they moved was essential for a correct evaluation. Indeed, so far, her instincts had always proven themselves right.

“Understood. Don't worry, we'll do it. Right, Booker?”

The man glared at Yusuf. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled.

Andy sent Joe an amused look and Joe smirked at her. It was well known that Booker _hated_ doing any kind of chore, including cleaning up the conference room as was their tradition the evening before certain meetings, but it was also common knowledge that he had taken an instant liking to their newest colleague, even if he didn't act on it. Which Joe always tried to remedy to, essentially coercing him into doing any kind of activity with Nile. Booker kept saying that she was too young for him, which Joe called bullshit, and that he wasn't over the death of his first wife, which was much more plausible and understandable, even if it had happened a few years before Joe met him. But grief was a personal thing and Joe could understand it; he simply wished that Booker could be happy again.

“Good, then it's set. See you later.”

“See you, Boss.”

“Bye, Andy.”

Joe watched as Nicky got out of his office and joined her, sending them a smile through the glass panels separating the corridor and their office. He opened the door for Andy, always the chivalrous gentleman that he was, and they left together. Joe sighed.

Nicky, who was the embodiment of the company's commercial department, occupied such an important position despite being young, only thirty. He had earned it with his hard work and good results, guaranteeing the company the award of many orders every year. Joe admired him – in more than one way. Nicky had been his not-so-secret crush for almost two years by now. Everyone but Nile and Nicky himself knew it, and Joe had his doubts about the first's lack of awareness, too. She would soon start to mock him and urge him to do something about it, Joe knew; Nile was a sharp and acute observer.

“Stop drooling,” Booker muttered with a smirk.

Joe turned to glare at him, eyes narrowed. “You don't get to tell _me_ to stop drooling when you yourself can't help making the heart-eyes whenever a certain someone walks by.”

Booker blushed and glared back viciously. “I do no such thing, how many times do I have to tell you? Also, you're the one who's been pining for _two whole years._ ”

“And you've been making her the heart-eyes for a month!”

“A month's not two years! And I do no such thing.”

“The guy's got a boyfriend!”

“So what? He's an asshole.”

“Says who?”

“Says Quynh, who met him once. You know she's the best when it comes to judging characters.”

“Hmm.”

Booker sighed like Joe was being a particularly stubborn child and turned around. “Hey, Quynh!”

Their colleague turned and faced him from the other side of the transparent wall. “Yes?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, elegant and sophisticated as always. Her long straight hair were so black they appeared almost a dark blue under the artificial lights.

“You met Nicky's boyfriend once, right?”

“Uh, don't remind me. What an asshole!” she scrunched her nose in what would've been an adorable expression, if she wasn't the most judgmental person Joe knew. He loved her like a sister, but she could be a lot to handle. He sometimes wondered how Andy managed to do it. “I don't know why Nicky's still with him.”

Booker turned to face Joe, grinning widely. “See?”

“See what? As long as Nicky's happy, I have no business creating havoc in his life.”

Booker shook his head. “You're a lost cause.”

“You really are!” came Quynh's remark.

“Am not! I'm simply not a home-wrecker.”

“Pff, you're so _boring_ , Joe!” Quynh rolled her eyes. “Besides, when did that _ever_ stop anyone?”

At the desk facing her, Nile laughed and looked at him with knowing eyes. _Damn!_ She _already_ knew.

She had begun working with them about a month ago, and she already fitted like she'd been there much longer.

“Not you too, Nile!” Joe begged her.

Nile only laughed harder, her dark eyes brightening in delight. “Well she'd not wrong, you know?”

Joe glared at them both and turned his attention back to the project, not deigning them of an answer.

Joe looked at the excel tabulation he was preparing, but his head wasn't in it anymore. His head was lost in the image of stunning pale green eyes and an anonymous face which was given personality by a mole, of all things; those eyes had literally stolen the breath from his lungs when they were introduced, and Joe had managed to almost choke on his own spit and embarrass himself for life. Andy still made fun of him when they all went to have dinner together on Fridays – occasions when only Nicky and Nile were absent, the first for unknown reasons, the latter because of her studies.

Nicky was... stunning. He was perfect like one of Canova's sculptures, and sometimes he graced them all with small smiles that were as hard to appear as they were quick to disappear, but always looked sincere, and that made Joe's inner poet want to recite verses for him, to declare his love out loud for the whole wide world to see.

And his gentleness! Nicky always put other people's needs first, he was caring and unobtrusive, always ready to help in whatever way possible. Joe had once witnessed him make a quick run to the store at the end of the street to buy tampons and chocolate for Quynh and bring home-baked baklava to satisfy Andy's sweet-tooth. Booker said he had learned to cook it because of her fondness for said delicacy; wasn't he perfect?

 _Fuck. Oh, fuck._ He _really_ was a lost cause.

He shook his head and saw that he'd completely lost his train of thought. With a sigh, he began calculating the number of cards again.

* * *

Joe was helping Nile preparing the conference room for the following morning and had also enlisted Booker to help.

“I'm not going to sweep the floor,” Booker stated, arms crossed.

Joe rolled his eyes and prayed for patience. Nile, on the other hand, had a more direct approach: she pushed the broom's handle in Booker's hand not-so-gently and glared down at him until his cheeks grew bright red and he gave up, muttering something unintelligible in French. Joe elbowed him, and Booker smacked him with the handle of the broom on his ass. Joe yelped, feigning pain.

“Booker!” Nile glared at him from where she was cleaning the table top.

The Frenchman, if possible, blushed even more, and Joe smirked.

“That's payback for this morning's jab”, he whispered, and Booker's grip on the wooden handle got so tight that his knuckles went white. Joe only smiled innocently, almost sweetly. See if Booker would still spend lunch mocking him in front of Quynh and Nile for his crush over Nicky. It was with immense satisfaction that Joe grinned widely as Booker gave him the stink eye and kept on sweeping the floor.

Joe, on his part, was busy looking for the glasses they kept in one of the drawers – which one, though, was a mystery; he had to clean them and put them at the center of the table once Nile had cleaned it, and then they could be done for the day and could all go home. Quynh, little which that she was, had found an excuse to leave early.

Of course, they could have demanded all these activities to the cleaning service, which would have had no problem in doing all the chores for them, but it was a tradition of sort to carry them out personally, before any important meeting. Andy could be extremely superstitious from time to time and even if Booker (and Joe, for that matter) would never understand why cleaning up the conference room would bring them any luck, in the end they always did it. And luck, indeed, came more often than not.

Joe had finally located the glasses when the entrance door opened.

“I'm so, so sorry Andy. I don't know what happened,” Nicky was saying. He appeared quite agitated, Joe thought slightly worried, but he also saw that andy was regarding Nicky with a polite smile, indicating that whatever the issue, it wasn't serious at all. He breathed a sigh of relief, which was unsurprising; he had never heard of grave mistakes being made by Nicky, because they were all professionals in their line of work.

“It's really not a problem nor your fault, Nicky. Seriously, don't worry about it,” Andy said, as expected.

“Still, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again.”

“It's _fine_. It's been known to happen, from time to time; it's just the software, it crashes chronically. It's just bad luck that it happened today of all days. I'll ask Copley to take a look at it – again,” Andy said with a sigh as they entered Nicky's office. Copley was their IT expert, a freelance with whom they had a long-standing partnership.

“You actually saved us from doing a bad impression with your quick thinking, so I should be thanking you,” Andy added. “You made quite the impression.”

Nicky nodded, still clearly unconvinced, and sat down slowly, wincing at the movement. Joe, looking subtly at them from the other side of the glass wall, frowned, and Andy clearly noticed it too.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes! Yes, of course. Thanks,” Nicky said way too quickly, voice suspiciously high. “I- uh- must have torn a muscle gardening yesterday.”

Joe frowned at that. He'd couldn't help but remember that Nicky had once mentioned his love for flowers as well as the total lack of space in his minuscule apartment, where he didn't even have a balcony. Prices in the city were too high to afford big houses in nice neighborhoods, so if you wanted to live safely, a small apartment had to do. Also, Booker had once told him that his crush's place in London was essentially a shoe-box. Therefore, Joe was very confused. Why did Nicky feel compelled to lie, and so badly at that?

Even Booker, who'd clearly been eavesdropping as well, raised an eyebrow, eyes stopping swiping the by-now exceedingly clean floor.

“That's odd. He doesn't even have enough space for a real table, let alone a garden,” he uttered, voicing out loud Joe's thoughts.

Nile looked at him, then at Joe, then at Nicky, with confusion. Joe didn't reply, but for reasons he couldn't pinpoint, something bothered him the whole evening after that.

* * *

Nicky sighed as he cooked dinner. Steven was in the living room watching one of those tv shows he liked so much; Nicky didn't mind cooking every day, the grandmother he'd grown up with in Italy having thought him all she knew, though sometimes he wished Steven would ask him if he needed help. Obviously he would decline it, but just the effort and the thought would have been nice. He shook his head. What was he thinking? Steven's office hours were longer than Nicky's, and his job was full of responsibilities that obviously drained him of all his vitality. Nicky should've been happy to be able to ease his burdens with these simple gestures – cooking, cleaning, being a good boyfriend – instead he lost precious time complaining in his head. Overthinking, as usual. It was one of his many flaws, Steven had told him more than once.

He glanced at the clock on the wall: it was almost 7.10 pm, he had five more minutes to have the spaghetti ready and the salad seasoned as Steven liked. He needed to hurry if he didn't want to disappoint his boyfriend – again – and to hear him complain loudly and continuously the whole evening – again.

“Dinner's ready,” Nicky called just as Steven was about to switch off the tv.

He carried two full plates directly towards the table in the dining room, where he'd already put the cutlery and bottles of water and wine. The first few times he'd stayed over to have dinner with his boyfriend, Nicky'd been afraid of holding the delicate glass of those expensive chalices too tight and break them. He could still remember Steven's booming laughter as he looked at him with amusement, encouraging him not worry and just enjoy their time together. His eyes were kind and warm back then, a soft blue. Nicky felt cold now thinking about them and the sharp contrast to Steven's dark expression these days – these months.

“Nicky, this is delicious!” Steven exclaimed, shaking him from his stupor.

Immediately, a pleased smile plastered itself on Nicky's face, almost a Pavlovian response to Steven's compliments. Here Nicky'd been, eating almost mechanically, lost in his mind again, criticizing Steven and depicting him almost as a monster, while in reality his boyfriend was congratulating him.

“I'm glad you like it,” he said in a low voice, finally taking a real bite himself.

The spaghetti was, in fact, delicius. He'd learned to cook it as Steven liked and made sure to always put some pepper in the sauce, even though he didn't really appreciate it and it gave him a slight stomach ache. Yet, it was worth that small discomfort, if he got to see his boyfriend so happy and satisfied. The spaghetti was good, yet Nicky wasn't all that hungry. He never was, these days. Steven said he was too stressed, always so tense. He needed to unwind, and Nicky couldn't disagree. The fact was that, apart from the work-related stress, he lately also felt uneasy when he was here, at Steven's, always nervous and haunted even when he had no need to be - or so Nicky did his best to convince himself.

Steven was a kind person, one of the nicest Nicky'd ever met; that was the reason he'd fallen for him, three years ago now. It was the small gestures, the flowers he brought him on the anniversary of the first month together, the nice scarf he had bought after Nicky had seen it in a boutique yet was too expensive for his finances, the extra-large bowl of pop-corns they would share at the cinema. There was no need for Nicky to always be so negative, so pensive, so frustratingly annoying – so _afraid_ , as if there was something to be afraid of.

They ate dinner in a quiet silence which was in the end interrupted by Steven reprimanding him, saying there was too much salt in their salads.

“How come you still can't season my salad properly? Dammit, it doesn't take a genius to do it,” he grumbled.

Nicky lowered in gaze. He found Steven's annoyance disproportionate, feeling a surge of irritation when his boyfriend pushed the plate away from himself for emphasis, claiming it to be inedible at best. It was ungrateful on is part, Nicky thought, and disrespectful towards all those people who couldn't afford to eat a full meal everyday. The gesture was rude and purposefully done to clearly show off his displeasure.

It made Nicky remember that time he'd unintentionally hit Joe's coke at lunch, the can had splashed all over their plates. He'd apologized profusely, but Joe had only shook his head with a smile and told him not too worry, taking a bite of the green leaves drenched in the saccharine liquid and chewing on them enthusiastically, before claiming that he'd never eaten anything as good before. Nicky was sure he'd done it only out of politeness and to try to coax Nicky out of his embarrassment, and it had been one of the sweetest and most spontaneous gestures anyone had made for him.

Nicky shook his head and got up to retrieve his boyfriend's plate, as well as everything else on the table, including his still untouched salad, and went put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. He chastised himself for thinking about Joe while he was with his boyfriend. It was something that kept happening, lately; Nicky didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, but there was a certain attraction for Joe that made him blush when they had the opportunity to spend some time together. He was kind in a way Steven wasn't anymore, and funny, and always, always so supportive. He had a nice word for everybody and had an easy charm that Nicky, introvert by nature, envied. Yet Nicky couldn't really claim to know a lot about Joe, and his idea of the man was idealized at best, an image his silly fantasy had conjured up just to torment him. He couldn't really be so naive as to believe that someone he knew only on his workplace was actually like that outside, could he? Joe probably was well-mannered only because he was a professional who knew how to be civil with a fellow colleague, and nothing more. Steven was right, he was a disaster, always so stupid, so distracted – by other men, moreover. He was really as ungrateful as his boyfriend claimed.

Putting away the last plate, he heard Steven get up and walk to the liquor cabinet, grabbing a tumbler and half-filling it with rum. Nicky shivered – he didn't like it when Steven began drinking first thing after dinner. It usually meant the night was already ruined, and he could do very little to make it better. Steven's bad mood was already clear. Nicky heard him drink slowly, his gaze predatory on Nicky's prone figure. As he finished loading the dishwasher, Nicky could feel Steven's eyes, intense and hungry, roaming over his body, and they made him tense up again, his stomach clenching in expectation just as a headache began blooming. He knew what would come, and it wasn't as enjoyable as it was supposed to be, at least for him.

Soon enough, a pair of big hands were on Nicky's hips, grabbing him with intent and possessiveness, thumbs massaging his lower back, hot breath ghosting over his neck.

“You've no idea how hot you're right now,” Steven whispered in his ear, biting it.

Nicky's hands stilled. He closed his eyes.

“What I'd like to do to you...”

Nicky felt Steven's hands tighten and he winced, the bruises from two nights ago still throbbing. Nicky bit his lip in pain. The bulge of Steven's cock was humping against his ass, and one of his hands moved from Nicky's hip to his front, massaging him. That should have been arousing, Nicky thought, detached. He was sure it had been arousing once, but it wasn't anymore. It hadn't been for a long time. Lately, it felt disgusting; lately, _he_ felt disgusting.

He felt like he was trapped and he couldn't breathe. He knew he couldn't back off. But he also couldn't continue.

“S-stop,” he murmured, breath coming in short gasps.

Steven's hands stilled slowly, only to find Nicky's shoulder and make him pirouette around so that they were facing each other, hs body caged between Steven's and the kitchen counter.

“What's the problem, this time?” he asked, a certain warning edge in his voice.

His eyes were cold and dark, and Nicky couldn't look at them.

“I- I don't feel so good today. I'm sorry.”

Steven huffed. “Yeah, right.”

Nicky lowered his gaze. “Maybe we could just, I don't know, watch a movie and go to bed,” he suggested, but Steven only huffed in annoyance.

“You know what? I think you should go home instead,” he said, and Nicky widened his eyes, feeling tears pool in them. He didn't want to be rejected like that.

“I'm really sorry, Steven. It's just, tonight-”

“Yeah, I'm sorry too,” Steven said. “Sorry I thought that just for once I could enjoy a good time with my boyfriend. God, Nicky, I'm always, _always_ so tired, but today I thought I could do a little effort. For you. To make you happy.” Nicky bit the inside of his cheek, trying his best not to cry. He knew it would only make everything worse, and most of all, he knew it was manipulative of him, just a way to make Steven change his mind. He was the worst boyfriend who'd ever walked on Earth. “But you had to ruin it, as always. You can't even do a little effort, for me. You always have to ruin the mood. There's something seriously wrong with you, you know? You tease me, you lead me on, and then you just decide that you don't want it anymore and leave me so frustrated.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, you already said that. God, you always sound like a broken record. Petulant, that's what you are! Always complaining, always finding something wrong. It's clear you don't enjoy the time I always cut out for you, somehow, despite my many obligations. You're so ungrateful!”

“I-”

“You know it gets on my nerves, still you keep doing it!”

Nicky bit the inside of his cheek harder, trying to contain any noise that would only make Steven more irritated at him, and drew blood. It was a normal occurrence, the insides of his cheeks were battered by cuts provoked by his own teeth. Lately eating anything containing salt was a nightmare; he had begun skipping lunch altogether whenever he could.

He wondered when this had begun being his everyday life. He wondered when hearing glass shattering against a wall became a quotidian occurrence. He wondered when Steven's bedroom's door closing loudly became a relief, a solace for him, instead of something to dread.

The silence in the kitchen was deafening, making him realize how much his boyfriend had been shouting mere moments prior. Even that was nothing unusual, just like those bruises on his hips were. Just for a moment, Nicky felt sorry for himself; then, he shook his head and cleared his eyes, going to pick up the broken glass laying on the floor. He'd put himself in that situation; if only he could have just enjoyed the evening, instead of ruining it with his irrational, irrelevant worries, with the anxiety he wasn't capable of getting rid of. Now he'd made his bed, and he would have to lay in it.

He threw the broken glasses in the waste underneath the sink, then slowly walked to the bedroom's door. Softly, he knocked and waited for a response. When it didn't come, Nicky silently sighed.

“I'm sorry, Steven. I- I love you,” he forced himself to say. Once, it had been the truth.

Nicky waited for a few more seconds, then turned around and walked towards the entrance door, closing it behind himself. The automatic lock slid in place inside, effectively locking him on the condo's tastefully decorated corridor. With a sigh, he walked towards the elevator, heavy steps taking him there as his mind wondered when his everyday life had become like this. For a moment, he thought that Joe would never treat him like that – then again, Joe would never want anything to do with someone as useless as him.

* * *

“Really, Nicky? Again?”

“Sorry Quynh, it's just- you know I love diary so much, I can't help it.”

“But you're lactose intolerant! You shouldn't keep having cappuccinos.”

“I know, I know. I promise it's the last time.”

Quynh laughed. “Yeah, you said the same thing yesterday. It's the third time in four days, it can't be healthy. Not to mention, you could really use putting on a kilo or two, instead of skipping lunch.”

“I know, I really promise. Okay?”

“Alright, alright. You sure I can't bring you anything to eat here, at least? A sandwich, some toast...”

“No, really. Thank you though.”

“You're welcome. See you later.”

“See you.”

Joe bumped into Quynh as his colleague left Nicky's office. Lunch break had just begun, and they were all putting on their coats, ready to leave the building for the next hour, headed to the nearest diner where they were by now regular costumers.

“Hey Quynh,” Joe greeted her; he'd not seen her all morning, due to their hectic schedule that week. “What's wrong?”

“Nicky's skipping lunch,” Quynh replied, an upset look on her face.

Joe raised his eyebrows. “Again?”

“I know, right? He claims he consumed too much dairy,” Quynh responded, clearly unconvinced.

Joe was perplexed. He could swear Nicky had never left his office during the whole morning, not to grab a cappuccino nor to go to the restroom; an important request for quotation had been received yesterday and Nicky was busy examining the papers. A sense of unease enveloped him. It had become a common, regular feeling lately, when he thought about Nicky – which to be honest occurred even more often than usual. Nicky was acting a bit weirder every day that passed, and Joe couldn't shake the feeling that something in his private life was deeply wrong, maybe even dangerous. It was the small details, like the way he'd witnessed him jump at sudden noises, or flinch when someone raised their voice. And that wasn't to mention the weight loss that he'd suffered in the past few weeks, often skipping lunch altogether just like today, or the fact that mysterious aches randomly ailed him, making his movements stiff and oddly graceless, a quaint contrast to his delicate, natural elegance. Still, every time someone questioned him about that, he played it down, a perfect explanation ready to justify the situation accompanied by an uneasy smile and eyes that never met the interlocutor.

Joe had thought that it was just his mind playing tricks on him, at the beginning. He'd thought that he was just too attracted to his colleague to be objective in his judgment; Nicky was fine, his achievements work-wise were higher than ever, it surely was just stress making him jittery. Then, a couple of months ago, he'd mentioned it in passing to Andy as they walked through the parking lot to their respective cars, and Andy had promptly agreed with him. Joe had been particularly worried that day when he'd thought he'd caught a glimpse of a bruise on Nicky's forearm before he pulled down the sleeves of his shirt.

“I've noticed it, too,” Andy had said. Her eyes were stormy, as if she had known more than him.

“I'm a bit worried,” Joe mumbled now as he and Quynh descended the stairs and reached the sidewalk.

“So are we all. I overheard Andy asking Nicky if he was okay twice today.”

That, in itself, was alarming. Andy was not only their boss but a good friend for all of them, Joe himself saw her almost as a small sister and felt like he'd known her for centuries, but she wasn't open in her shows of care. He was subtle, sometimes cunning, almost annoying when necessary, but never so blunt, so direct.

Joe and Quynh didn't speak anymore as they reached the diner where Nile was already waiting for them, but as he ordered a sandwich, his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't remember the last time Nicky had smiled for real, or hugged anyone of them like he used to.

“I thought you'd fallen into a manhole!” Nile exclaimed when they reached their usual table. “What took you so long? Also, where's Nicky?”

Joe and Quynh shared a silent look that spoke volumes.

“He's not coming, is he?” Nile asked with a scowl.

“He says he's feeling unwell,” Quynh replied.

“Yeah, right. I don't believe it,” Nile muttered under her breath, and only Joe, sitting on her right, heard her as their eyes met silently. He totally agreed, on his part.

Lunch passed quickly, almost too quickly, and they were all heading out of the diner when Joe told the girls to go ahead, he would reach them soon. Then, he headed back and approached the counter, where a great variety of panini and sandwiches were on display with slices of pie. There, in a corner, was also a slice of _focaccia_.

Joe bought it, had it put in a paper bag, and made his way back to the office. Once there, instead of heading to his desk, he knocked on Nicky's door. It was closed, but the shades weren't in place, and as Nicky glanced up and looked at him, Joe was once more mesmerized by the color of his eyes. They were breathtaking.

“Hi, Joe.”

“Hey,” Joe said with a smile, opening and closing the door, then sitting down in front of Nicky's desk, which was overflowing with papers. “I bought you something to eat here, if you wish to.”

Nicky's eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. Thank you, Joe. You shouldn't have,” he took the bag that Joe was extending toward him and peered inside. Then, he looked up with wide eyes and a hint of smile on his lips. “ _Focaccia_?!”

Joe nodded. “I saw it at the diner and thought maybe you would feel up to eating that, at least.”

Nicky looked unsure about that; he closed the bag and put it on the desk beside him. “I don't know,” he apologized. “But thank you. For the thought and the consideration, I mean. It's very, ah, sweet.”

Oh, sweet heavens, Nicky was blushing. _Nicky was blushing_. Alarm bells ringed soundly in Joe's head, creating a cacophony of sounds. Joe _loved_ when Nicky blushed.

Joe smiled widely feigning nonchalance, and shrugged. “I was happy to do buy it for you. I'm sure it reminds you of home.”

Nicky nodded. “It does. I'll have some of it maybe, later, if I feel up to,” he scratched the back of his head. “Next time, I'll do my best to spend lunch with you all,” he also promised.

“We would all be happy if you did. Nile seems particularly curious, she's yet to spend some time with you outside the office. I think she misses Chicago, some days.”

“Yeah, I bet she does. And I'd love to spend some more time with her as well. And with you, too,” Nicky looked at him and now it was Joe's turn to blush. He simply had that effect on him. Joe hoped that, with his beard covering half of his face, it wouldn't bee too obvious. “I'll make an effort. Promise.”

“Good,” Joe got to his feet. “Don't work too hard, Nicky,” he said before leaving and going back to his desk. Booker was at a Client's with Andy, so at least he wouldn't have to endure his teasing for today. With a sigh, he got back to work.

* * *

Joe hated grocery shopping here in London. Maybe because all the products were foreign, or maybe because he really didn't like the culinary taste here, Joe always found himself wandering through the isles, lost and a bit sad, nostalgic for his home and its delicacies here, the sices that made everything tastier. Still, it was a task that couldn't be avoided more than he already did, and once a week he had to force himself to re-supply his poor empty fridge. He was currently standing in front of boxes containing a pathetic excuse for zucchinis, old and wrinkled like a prune, wrapped up in plastic, wondering if these could still be considered edible vegetables and therefore a valid candidate to be bought given their exceptional discount, or not. Their neglected aspect made the obvious choice easy for him.

“They don't look that fresh, do they?” a sudden voice on his left made him jump in surprise, still he knew who it was even before he turned around, a smile already on his face.

Nicky was standing there with a mostly full cart and a list of items held in his right hand. It was strange, to see him like wearing something that wasn't a shirt, and with hair slightly ruffled. He looked great.

“Hi!” Joe exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

And wow, that was sooo smooth Joe, what could Nicky possibly be doing in a grocery store with a shopping cart? This was so embarrassing, he would gladly crawl into an air vent and never get out again if only to avoid the creeping hotness he could feel on the back of his neck.

Just as Joe was about to apologize for his stupidity and ask Nicky to ignore him, Nicky chuckled carelessly, genuinely amused, blessing him with one of his rare smiles. Nicky was always beautiful, Joe thought, but when he smiled he was divine, a godly entity made human justfor him. Joe privately treasured each of Nicky's smiles and his laughs, they were a rare sight coming from his very shy and extremely private colleague, especially as of late. It had been such a long time since he'd seen his lips stretched like that.

Joe smiled back at him, scratching his head absentmindedly. “That didn't exactly come out as I'd planned it to,” he apologized.

Nicky shook his head benevolently. “No, it clearly didn't, but that's okay. I'm doing my weekly shopping and I've actually bought everything on my list except for the zucchini, but – ew! I'm not so sure about these.”

“They have a terrible aspect,” Joe agreed. “Well, almost all the veggies here do.”

It came out with a nostalgic tone that made Nicky look up at him.

“You miss Jerusalem?”

“A bit. I miss my mother's cooking, most of all,” he stated as they silently but simultaneously moved their carts down the isle, both wandering casually in the store. Joe used the opportunity to check out Nicky, whose eyes were quickly scanning the other baskets of products.

“I bet she's a great cook.”

“The best. You should try her cakes, I swear you can feel tears in your eyes at the very first bite. Oh, and her bread, home-made and so soft but with a hard crust! With grilled cheese! I swear my stomach's rumbling right now,” Joe laughed. “Don't you miss it, too?”

“My grandmother's cooking? Yeah, a lot, though desserts never were her forte. But she cooked a mean _risotto con pesce._ I wish I'd actually made an effort to learn something more before leaving, that would've been helpful,” Nicky said, and Joe snorted.

“Well, I'm useless in the kitchen, and I know you're not as bad as you say, yourself,” he said, reminiscing those times when Nicky had brought over some freshly baked goods for them on mondays. “Though I was referring to Italy,” he clarified, grabbing a jar of pickles.

“Oh! Yes, I miss the people mostly, and the city I grew up in.”

“You're from Genova, right?”

Nicky nodded and laughed. It was a joke in the office, him having the same surname as his hometown.

“I grew up there, but I was actually born in a small town on the mountains nearby, though I don't really remember that place a lot. I left when I was only a child and went to live with my grandmother, and I never came back.”

“You know, I actually spent almost three months in Genova when I was eighteen, before I went to college.”

“Oh my, really?! And to think we never met back then, only to find each other here in London!” Nicky exclaimed with an infectious smile.

Joe chuckled. “Yeah, what a small world, isn't it?”

Nicky nodded. “It really is!”

They chatted for a while as Joe picked up his cereals and some cheese, discovering that they'd lived – for a very short while – in neighborhoods located on opposite sides of the city. Joe was re-evaluating grocery shopping as they chatted and laughed.

“Are you planning on going back for the holidays?”

“I'd really love to, but I can't,” Nicky said, his voice becoming sad, and Joe wondered if he wasn't going for economical reasons, or if something else kept him here. He knew, though, that Nicky had no family left there. He was debating asking him about it, when Nicky spoke again. “You're going back, right? I remember you saying it once.”

Joe blushed. It was true, he'd said it at lunch a couple of weeks prior, on one of the rare occasions when Nicky was actually there; he didn't think Nicky would remember it, and for some reason, the fact that he did made him feel soft and happy.

He nodded with a smile. “Yes, I am. I'm already looking forward to it, even if it won't happen before spring! God, I can't wait to go and hug my old folks, then go grab a beer with my friends. It sounds very boring, I know, it's just- that's my safe place with my safe people, I don't know if I'm making any sense,” Joe sighed.

“You are,” the other man assured him with translucent eyes in a solemn tone that made a bell ring in Joe's head. “And it's not boring. It's- it's beautiful.”

Joe was about to ask if everything was alright, because he could sense that there was something definitely off there and he needed to know how he could help fix it. He couldn't pinpoint it, he couldn't really identify it, but Nicky emanated a sorrowfulness that made Joe feel worried. It wasn't just today, it was very common, and it worried him.

Just when he was opening his mouth, though, Nicky's cellphone rang.

“Excuse me.”

Nicky pushed his cart to the side as he took the phone out of his pocket, grimacing at the name on the screen for a quick moment before his features became artfully inexpressive.

“Hello? … Yes, I'm here right now … Oh … No, I didn't look at my watch and time flew by, sorry … I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- … No, I'm not- … Yes, sure, it's just the place's packed with people today, but I promise I won't be late...”

Joe's eyebrow shot up. He could swear there was a grand total of no more than six people in the store, and that was counting the infant sitting in his mother's cart wailing.

“I'll be there in ten minutes, top … Yes, I can take care of it on my own, I won't bother you … Yes, bye.”

Joe pretended not to stare as Nicky hang up with a silent sigh, his eyes dark and his mouth flat. He was painstakingly intent on reading the ingredients of tin of tuna.

“I'm sorry, I need to go now,” Nicky murmured without meeting Joe's eyes, his good humor gone. “My boyfriend's waiting for me, I have to hurry. I'm already so late...”

“Of course,” Joe said, wondering what could be so incredibly important for that boyfriend of his to have upset Nicky, making him nervous with a two minutes long phone call. He could see his friend was agitated as he hurriedly read through his list, double checking if he'd picked up everything.

If he was honest with himself, Joe was selfishly sad at the thought that his time with Nicky was up. He'd really enjoyed it, it had been an unexpected yet very pleasant surprise to meet Nicky outside of the working hours. There were very few occasions for them to talk this freely, and it was refreshing; now he could feel disappointment rising in his chest. He knew, objectively, that they would have had to part ways anyhow, even if Nicky had not received the phone call; but, maybe, he would have had time to find the courage to ask Nicky to join him for a coffee at the small cafe at the corner, and that would have been the cherry on top of the cake, the highlight of a day that had unsuspectingly turned out to be much more than he'd been looking for.

He shook his head as the other man moved back toward his cart, trying to clear his thoughts. He wasn't Nicky's boyfriend, he reminded himself. He was just a friend and a colleague, Nicky didn't have any obligations to spend his time with him; even if he had asked to be joined for a coffee, Nicky probably wouldn't have accepted anyhow. He probably had other things to do, other people to meet, and rightfully so – the phone call had effectively demonstrated that much. These minutes together had already been a gift in and of themselves, unexpected and cherished as a treasure, so Joe couldn't be so stupidly egotistical as to pretend for more. He told himself he would have to just be thankful for it – even if it _didn't feel right_.

He plastered a smile on his face even though his cheeks hurt with the effort and made himself turn to face Nicky, showing a fake cheerfulness that wasn't really there.

“Can I help you find anything else before you go?” he asked. He was surprised, yet maybe not too much everything considering, to notice the way Nicky's eyes widened as if astonished that Joe would offer him any help at this point, which made him wonder about Nicky's personal life outside of the office.

“No,” Nicky said, “But thanks, for asking I mean. It is very, uh, thoughtful of you.”

 _Was he blushing?_ Joe felt his knees weak, and for a moment he feared they wouldn't uphold his weight. The sight of Nicky's blushing was _precious_.

“Don't mention it. It's my fault you have to run now, if I hadn't bothered you with my stupid chat you wouldn't have to hurry now.”

Nicky sharply raised his head, his sea-colored eyes finding Joe's and looking into them as he forgot for a moment of his list, his cart, and his need to go.

“No, Joe. Don't berate yourself, please. I have to thank you, really, for the company and the chatting. It was... Nice. Very, very nice. I really liked it,” Nicky said, his face going pink up to the very top of his ears.

 _Damn, he is so cute_.

Was it Joe's mind playing tricks on him, or were they looking lost and mesmerized into each other's eyes like in those old romantic movies where time didn't matter anymore and soft violins played in the background as the cheesy protagonist couple finally found its happiness? And when had they moved so close to the other, that their chests were almost touching? He was sure that, if he inclined his head just so, he would be able to brush his lips on Nicky's. He could feel Nicky's hot puffs of breath against his neck, and for a moment Joe thought that maybe, just maybe, they could stay like that for a while, or forever, why not?

Then Nicky took a step back and cleared his throat as his eyes looked everywhere but at him, and Joe deflated like an old balloon. The violins ceased their melody and time began flowing again.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Nicky said, his voice raw and low as he hurriedly moved.

“Of course, Nicky. Uh, have a nice evening,” Joe replied, but what he meant to say was, stay, wait, don't go.

He watched him walk away swiftly before sighing and looking down at his shopping, where the jar of pickles was looking at him. Pickles. Ew!

* * *

Nicky didn't run from Joe, from the isle, from the shop.

He didn't.

It wasn't like he had to physically force himself to move away from him from that handsome, flawless man.

He didn't wish he could have stayed with Joe for the rest of the evening, enjoying their easy talks, the memories of Genova, and his stories about Jerusalem, where he had come as a teenager due to his father's job.

Of course Nicky hadn't paid attention to the way Joe's soft, deep eyes brightened as he recalled old times spent with his friends back there, or how his dimples made him look even more handsome than he already was, his dark curls soft and messy in a lovely way.

He hadn't stared at his big hands as he maneuvered the cart, wondering how they would feel on his cheek.

Same went for those lips, Nicky absolutely didn't feel any sort of attraction, of yearning for a kiss from his colleague, his friend. He had no desire at all to taste that mouth.

And, last but not least, he didn't get misty eyed at the simple act of basic decency that, in the last few months of Nicky's relationship with Steven, equated to the highest kindness possible - by that, meaning Joe's offer to patiently help him with any possible remaining of his shopping, not for selfish reasons, not so that he could get rid of his company faster, not to make him feel like a useless idiot who couldn't even get to do the shopping correctly, but with the simple, selfless goal of helping another person who maybe, just maybe, hopefully, Joe cared for.

So, in essence, yes, Nicky _did_ ran from Joe, even if he would never admit it. Mostly though, he ran from the voice in his head that kept warning him that something in his life was extremely wrong, that it had been wrong for a while now, and it would only worsen as time went by. And said something was, in fact, _someone_ who lately couldn't find a single thing he did to complement, a single reason to encourage him, nor any desire to be of real support even for the simplest of tasks, such as doing the shopping once a week.


	2. Abuse a man unjustly, and you will make friends for him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and reviews left so far. Here's the second chapter, which is probably one of the most graphic and violent of this fic (together with the next one). Specific warnings, alongside with the ones already listed in the tags:  
> \- gaslighting  
> \- emotional abuse  
> \- physical abuse  
> \- non-graphic heavy dub-con (personally, I consider it rape)  
> \- manipulation.
> 
> As said, I'm not a native English speaker. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Hi, Andy.” Nicky greeted his boss as she slipped into his office.

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, expectantly, staring at him with such intensity that Nicky wondered if he had something on his face. He was completely sure his arms were covered by his woolen sweater, so he didn't need to worry about that. As it became clear that he had no idea why she was there, she sighed like one would with a particularly slow little brother.

“Nicky. You're not wearing your coat,” she stated.

Nicky scratched the back of his head. “No? I mean, should I?”

The office was warm, bathed in what little sunlight that day could give them. There was no need for a coat, and as far as he remembered, he had no meeting to attend elsewhere. Yet that didn't look like the answer Andy wanted to hear.

“Well, come on! I, for one, don't want to be late, and we have no time to lose.”

“Mhh?” Nicky made a questioning sound, then it came to him. “Oh! Oh, no, I'm not having lunch today.”

Andy's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Nicky began to sweat. He didn't fear Andy, he knew she would never do anything to hurt him in any way, but he had learned to fear that particular brand of look. It always, _always_ meant trouble.

“Nicky. Get up, put on your coat, and come have lunch with me and the others. Now.”

Her tone didn't leave any room for discussion, and Nickty was out of his chair as soon as the last word had left her mouth. Still he tried to protest.

Today he didn't really feel like eating; the mere idea made him nauseous. The previous night, a large group of Steven's friends had come over, some of them alone, others with their girlfriends. Nicy had spent three hours preparing dinner right after he'd come home from work, making everything from scratch because _I told them how great a cook you are, love; surely you don't want to disappoint them and embarrass me, right?_ In the end, everyone had looked satisfied enough and Steven had smiled at him while they ate, even if they were sitting on opposite sides of the table. Steve had insisted for his friends to be closer to him, while all their fiances and Nicky himself sat at the other end of the big table, claiming that he had business to discuss since some of them worked with him. All the ladies had been mostly silent when eating, keeping to themselves, scrolling through the notifications on their phones or watching videos on them, mostly ignored by their other half. Nicky'd felt like a fish out of water.

Then, after dinner, as they relaxed in the living room, said girlfriends had been the only ones kind enough to chat with him, albeit briefly; their boyfriends hadn't spared him a glance. Nicky had tried to put on a smile as Anna? Emma? Whatever, as one of them begged him for the recipe of the _scaloppine_ he had prepared so that she could prepare them for her boyfirend, who always came home tired after work and complained about her lack of culinary skills, while a certain Sofia spent half an hour talking his ear off about cat videos and color matches and the latest eyebrow fashion. He was not misogynous in any way, and he disliked any preconceived opinion about women being submissive to men, but that had been the atmosphere in the room: all the women plus Nicky on one side, talking of frivolous stuff that always gravitated around their other half or about fashion choices that would please their boyfriends, and Steven and all his friends on the other, laughing, talking about work, and steadfastly getting drunk. The fact that he had somehow found himself sitting among what people usually called the _weak sex_ , chatting with them while everyone else ignore him, had distraught Nicky in a way he was unable to properly explain.

Then, after they all left, he had stayed up late to clean up the mess they had made, Steven going to bed because of an important meeting, but not before he pushed Nicky on his knees and asked – demanded, really – for a blowjob.

Reminiscing about it still made him exhausted. Nicky had planned to skip lunch, work through it, and leave early. He had to take the bus to go back to Steven's place tonight, and he was already tired. He said as much to Andy.

“Nonsense. You've been skipping lunch too many times as of late, I don't want to find you passed out on the floor one of these days. What kind of boss would I be?”

“Don't worry, I'd help you bury his body,” Quynh waltzed into the office and linked her arm with Andy's, who gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. Quynh was a good head shorter than Andy, so she had to bend slightly forward to do it. “Your reputation will remain untarnished.”

“My hero,” Andy said with a bright smile.

Nicky subtly moved as he put on his coat, to avoid looking at them. They were his sisters, he loved them both so much he would give up his life for theirs, but to see such happiness inexplicably saddened him – not because he wanted them to lose it, but because he felt the painful lack of it in his own relationship. When was the last time Steven had kissed him like that, or complimented him even if only jokingly?

Then again, when had Nicky last made Steven proud of him, he wondered as he followed Andy and Quynh down the corridor. Lately he was rarely in the mood to laugh and joke when they were together, so how could Steve feel any chipper? Nicky's own gloomy mood was enough to darken even the brightest spirit. So maybe it wasn't Steven's fault, but his own. He reflected on this concept as they walked down the street, missing the looks that Andy and Quynh sent on his way.

“So, Nicky. How are you doing? It's been a while since we last hanged out,” Quynh told him.

Nicky blinked, pulled out of his musings unexpectedly. “I'm... fine?”

Quynh cocked her head. “Is that a question or an affirmation?”

Nicky blushed. “I'm fine, really. Sorry. How are you?”

“Why are you apologizing?” Andy asked, at the same time as Quynh replied. “Fine. Sad that we never spend any time together anymore.”

Nicky looked at them as if trying to form an answer for both of their replies, and he could feel himself begin sweating once more, when he was saved by Joe's voice calling them over to their usual table.

“There you all are! Boss, Quynh, what are you doing to him? Poor Nicky looks like a puppy in need of saving from their overly excited new owner,” he joked, then winked at Nicky as Quynh's attention focused on Joe himself.

Nicky sent a grateful look his way, hoping to convey how grateful he felt. Indeed, he had needed saving. From what, though, he couldn't quite explain. He pretended not to notice how Andy's attention never wavered.

They all sat down together, elbows bumping against each other's as they looked at the menu of the day and ordered their food – a salad for Quynh, a hamburger for Nile and Booker, a sandwich for Andy, _caprese_ for Joe and the soup of the day for Nicky himself.

“You're such an old man!” Booker claimed.

“That's _healthy_.”

“No, that's disgusting! I mean, broccoli soup?”

“Booker, may I remind you that you once tried to feed us all _escargots_ last year?”

Nile made a gagging noise, while Booker became defensive. He was very proud of his Country's cuisine. “Escargots are delicious.”

“They're not. They're slimy.”

“Thank you, Quynh,” Nicky said with a hint of smile, while Booker threw his hands up asking for strength from God himself. Andy and Nile laughed at him, while Nicky could feel Joe's eyes on him. He felt suddenly too hot and was sure to be blushing.

The waitress brought their food and they all munched on it while the conversation flew easily. Nicky was actually feeling pretty alright for once, without even the slightest hint of nausea. It made for a nice change. He was wondering whether it would be considered impolite to use some bread to catch the last few drops of soup remaining in his plate, and could clearly imagine his grandmother scowling at him, when Joe's hand found his knee under the table and patted it gently. Nicky managed not to be too startled and turned to look at him, a smile on his face.

Joe, beautiful, kind, polite, with infinite charm and eyes that sparkled, was looking at him. He was so near that Nicky could actually count his curls; he longed to touch them, to bury his fingers in his hair and to caress his beard. Then he shook his head, tried to chase away such inappropriate thoughts, and cleared his throat.

“Yes?” unsurprisingly, he sounded strangled. He could feel his face burning. Around the table, the others kept talking.

“Booker and I will go to the pub Thursday. Do you want to join us?”

The hope was clear in each word of the invitation, and Nicky thought that nothing sounded nicer than an evening out with Joe. And Booker, of course. The company would be great, and it was something he had not done in a long while. A night out with colleagues, spent eating, drinking, and laughing, sounded like heaven to him. And yet... would Steven agree?

_He stays out with his friends a couple of times each week, he surely won't be opposed to me doing the same._

Before he could think too much about it, Nicky accepted. “That sounds nice. I'll be there.”

The smile that Joe gave him shined with the power of a hundred suns. “Cool! We'll go right after the office, usually we have something to eat there.”

“That's fine.”

“Great! We can make fun of Booker _when his team loses another match_ ,” Joe grinned, elbowing him mischievously.

“What?! _My_ team loses? Yous is the worst this year!”

“Pfff! They've just been unlucky so far.”

“Losing 0-9 isn't bad luck,” Booker mocked him, and Nicky couldn't help but snort. Joe sent him a wounded look.

“Sorry Joe. But he's right.”

Joe gasped, a hand clutching his heart dramatically. “ _Tu quoque, Nicolò_?”

Nicky pretended not to notice how warm, happy and relaxed he was feeling right then, laughing with his friends after such a long time. He promised himself that he wouldn't let so long pass before he enjoyed such sensations again.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It came out, much to Nicky's shame and disappointment, that he was a liar. He couldn't even keep the promises he made to himself, let alone the ones to his friends.

“What do you mean, you can't come?” Joe asked. He was so disappointed, looking sad and baffled. Nicky felt like the lowest form of animal alive on planet Earth.

He couldn't stand to look at him in the eyes, so he looked elsewhere, studiously avoiding Booker who was staring at him with a scowl.

“I'm sorry. I forgot that I have a date. With Steven.”

“On Thursday? And you can't postpone it?” Booker asked.

Nicky shook his head. No, he couldn't postpone it, because the date wasn't actually real. What was real, instead, was the pain he felt each time he moved his left arm, and the black bruise on his side carefully hidden by a shirt and a dark cardigan. Nicky would've never imagined such a reaction to his statement that he would spend a few hours with his friends for an evening. Steven had been furious, and Nicky had felt scared.

Yet, it didn't take a genius to see that Steven was right in being frustrated by Nicky. After all, he had forgotten that on Thursday he had a very important meeting with his uncle, a meeting that would probably last long into the evening. He would come home tired, hungry, and quite possibly irritable. And Nicky would be out with his friends having fun, while Steven would have to heathen up dinner on his own and be alone in the apartment waiting for him to come back. It wasn't correct on Nicky's part, and Steven had been rightfully altered as Nicky had insisted. Still, he could have avoided hitting him just _that_ hard, honestly. But Nicky _had_ insisted, even though he knew that Steven had been tired and cranky and that he hated it, when Nicky acted like that, when he gave him lip, making everything difficult.

(After he had hit him, though, Steven had apologized and kissed him tenderly.)

Still, nothing could make Nicky feel any less ashamed and lousy as he now looked at Booker and, most of all, at Joe and saw the disappointment in their eyes. He felt like a real failure. He was incapable of making anyone happy; no wonder Steven always said he didn't have any friend. He didn't deserve them.

“I'm sorry,” he repeated.

“Right, well, thanks for letting us know, I guess,” Booker said bitterly, going back to furiously type something on his computer. Each time he touched the keyboard, Nicky winced. It felt like he was slapping the poor keys because he wasn't allowed to do it to Nicky.

Joe, on his part, only sighed. His unhappiness was evident, as was his resentment; Nicky could see it easily. Still he tried to put on a casual smile to mask his disappointment. Nicky hated seeing him smile like that. Joe only deserved happiness and brightness, while Nicky could only bring darkness and chagrin.

“It's fine. Maybe next week, uh?” Joe asked, sounding empty and resigned: both of them knew that next week there would be another unmissable date.

Still, Nicky did his best to curve his lips upward. “Yeah, sure, Joe.”

He already was a liar. What was one more falsity?

  
  


* * *

  
  


Joe met a nice guy at the pub where he and Booker went on Thursday to watch a football match, on their own; Chelsea was playing against Liverpool. Joe and Booker were, as usual, supporting the opposing team and kept arguing that the referee was favoring one player of the other. Truth was that the match wasn't really that entertaining, or maybe it was Joe who couldn't properly enjoy it. He kept thinking what it would have been like, if Nicky had been there, or if he once in a while joined the others on their Friday dinners, like he used to back when Joe had first joined the group.

Then, Booker all but slapped him on his back and effectively pulled him out of his stupor by way of having Joe almost choking on his beer. Joe glared at him, spluttering between one insult and another, but Booker simply smirked, grabbed his chin, and turned his head so that Joe could look at who Booker was pointing out.

The guy had the body of a model, lively blue eyes and perfect skin so pale it was almost white, and was staring at him as he sipped a colored cocktail containing more sugar than alcohol. When Joe locked eyes with him, he winked, languidly drinking while the three friends sitting next to him giggled and made the grabby hands at the cute barista. They were clearly drunk, and the model, whose hair were so blonde they almost made him appear albino, glanced at them and benevolently shook his head with a small grin; he was clearly the self-appointed guardian angel for the night.

Booker pointed out that “The guy has been staring at you for the past fifteen minutes, Joe.”

He gave him a meaningful look and and not-so-gently pushed Joe towards him, grunting at his protest that maybe it was just his impression, who knew. Booker just shoved him and swore so loudly at that that even the small group of riders at the corner turned their heads, positively impressed. Joe gave him the stink eye, but Booker muttered something along the lines of _maybe this will take away the look of a beat up dog you've got going on these days_ , a honest and rightful affirmation to which Booker challenged him to reply – or better yet, _negate_ – with a raised eyebrow. Joe, always the better man, just ducked his head and walked over to the guy, asking for another beer and for a refill of his drink.

That's how he met Mika, Finnish, twenty six, economist, on a three-days trip with his friends to celebrate Rami's engagement. Mika was single, more than willing to spend the night together before the trip was over, and looked at him with deep blue eyes that were beautiful yet _weren't the color of the sea_.

They had sex together in Mika's hotel room, while Rami snored loudly with his other two friends, all piled up in the queen size bed in the second room they had booked, leaving Mika and Joe their privacy. It was, admittedly, a great night. Safe, sane, and consensual, Joe and Mika both pleased each other for a few delicious hours before succumbing to sleep and, then, sharing another joyous orgasm in the shower together, before Joe left and Mika went to check on his friends. For some hours, Joe's mind kind of shut down, which was admittedly nice.

If Booker's smug grin and Nile's winks the following day were anything to go by, Booker's suggestions had been right and Joe effectively looked a little less wrung out around his edges, walking less stiffly and smiling more easily. That lasted for a few hours, then the stubborn tension that had deep-seated itself in his shoulders returned.

All the while, he ignored the way Nicky's eyes seemed to follow him a little longer than usual as he walked past his office, hurriedly, like a kid trying his best to hide a mischief from his mom. They looked oddly sad, though Joe pretended not to notice it.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nicky was just laying on his front in the king sized bed in Steven's bedroom, while his boyfriend pushed into him at a painfully fast and hard pace. He bit the pillow and grunted, eyes screwed shut, but Steven's moans filled the bedroom, covering his noises of discomfort.

This isn't violence, he repeated to himself for the hundredth time. Steven was his boyfriend and this was lovemaking, even if it left Nicky with finger-shaped bruises on his arms and hips, and with a backache that lasted for days. A fat tear rolled down his cheek at a particularly brutal thrust. This isn't violence.

He wondered why it felt like it.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Booker was stretching his legs and walking towards the coffee machine located on their floor when he crossed Nicky, coming back from the copy machine, on the corridor. He looked pale and nervous as he read a message on the phone while balancing a stack of folders in his other hand. There was a visible limp in his steps and each movement was accompanied by a grimace – whether it was from the walk only or also form the message, it was unclear. Booker could swear that he absolutely didn't mean to, but, _ooopsie oops_ , he leaned slightly over Nicky's shoulder as they crossed each other and glanced at the identity of whoever Nicky was chatting with.

Steven, Nicky's boyfriend, the idiot who worked for his uncle's pharmaceutical company downtown and dressed like an imbecile.

Nicky was walking too fast for him to catch a glimpse to the content of the text, yet Booker saw it had the length of the Iliad and was full of half sentences written in capital letters follower like exclamation points. It suspiciously looked like the tone of someone who was angry and shouting at something, and his friend's sad eyes were enough for him to scowl as he walked down the stairs.

“I don't like him,” Booker claimed aloud in the empty space for no one to hear.

That Steven guy, the thought, he was trouble. Ever since he'd been in the picture, things weren't the same anymore. His Nicky, with whom he'd been friends for the many years, wasn't the same anymore. Booker had his suspicions of what was going on, like everyone else. By now, even Nile, young as she was, had understood and subtly checked on Nicky everyday.

Booker had first hand experience with situations like this. His late wife Adele had a friend, Monique, who had attended university with her in Nantes, who was abused by her boyfriend for many years. When in the end she decided to leave him and found the courage to do so, she looked exactly like Nicky did right now, worn thin and drained of all energy. The thing that scared him the most, was that despite it, Nicky didn't look like he was going to leave his boyfriend any soon.

Booker wanted to do something. He thought that Adele herself would've wanted him to intervene, like he'd done once with Monique's husband when the fucker had tried to slap her in front of him. He'd gone back home with a broken nose, but Booker hadn't felt any joy nor relief in teaching him said lesson, because Monique had cried, upset, feeling guilty for what had happened, for ruining their evening. Conscious of that, Booker knew he could do very little apart from supporting Nicky silently and being there if he ever decided to open up about it; he couldn't force him to do anything, and beating up his boyfriend like he'd done Monique's would be useless, as experience had already shown him.

Booker threw a murderous glance at the innocent coffee machine, before choosing an espresso with no sugar. Dark and bitter – it fitted his current mood. Adele always joked about it, saying that it suited his every mood, each day. The funny – _scary_ – thing was, Nile said the exact same thing.

Then, almost on a whim, he also pressed the button for the tea, maximum sugar available. He suspected Nicky could really use a hot sweet drink right now.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, I'm on tumblr if you want to say hi, under nickname: icedrifter.


	3. The abuse of a harmless thing is the essence of sin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here I am, with the third chapter of this story. I hope you'll like it. Here a very big, very important event for the plot happens, and I hope I made it justice.
> 
> As usual, I don't have a beta and I'm not a native English speaker, so I kindly apologize for any mistake.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter:  
> \- violence both physical and emotional  
> \- strong insults of sexual nature.
> 
> On a side note, I finished yesterday the writing of chapter 5, which took me an awful lot to finish because I was blocked and couldn't find it of my satisfaction, no matter what. But I did it, now not only it's ready, but I see the direction of the following ones. Yay!

“You should sell your apartment.”

“Why?”

“To come live with me. Permanently.”

“I don't know-”

“It would give us so much more time to spend together. You could live here, and I could take you to work and pick you up everyday, you could spend all your free time with me.”

“But I like my apartment.”

“It's a rat hole, Nicky, so small I could never fit all my stuff in there. Nor I would want to. The neighborhood is terrible. My place is much better.”

“It is, but-”

“Okay, so it's settled. You're coming to live here, end of story. Why don't you look happier?”

“I would like to think about it before deciding, Steven. We should talk about it, together.”

“Don't you love me, Nicky?”

“Of course.”

“Then you could do this little effort, right? I'm offering you my house for free after all.”

“We could look for a new one, one that could be ours?”

“Pfft, and waste time? No place could be better than this one, my father furnished it for me when I got my promotion at the company, you'll never find anything better. You don't even need to keep your old stuff, I think you should just sell it with the house. I already found a realtor.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Switching off his laptop, Joe put on his coat and walked towards the end of the corridor, locking the door behind him. He was the last one leaving the office that day, so he checked all the windows to make sure they were all closed, before heading out and switching on the general alarm. He descended the stairs with quick steps. Reaching the sidewalk, he turned left towards the parking lot, opening his umbrella. It had started raining again earlier that afternoon, and the heavy drops made him miss his beloved hometown more than usual.

As he turned the corner, Joe spotted a lone figure standing adherent to the wall as far away from the rain as possible, and yet being completely drenched anyhow. He recognized Nicky, who'd left only a few minutes minutes before him, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Hello again,” he said with a smile.

Nicky jumped a bit, clearly startled by his previously unnoticed presence, but smiled at him gratefully when Joe pushed his umbrella forward, protecting him from the rain.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing still here? I thought you would be headed home by now.”

“Yeah, well Steven's a bit late, so I thought I would just wait for him; I'm sure he'll be here in a few minutes.”

“You could've come back to the office and stayed inside.”

“I can't have him wait for me,” Nicky said with a shrug.

Joe studied his face silently for a moment, taking in the prominent nose that was so aristocratic and the bags beneath his eyes as his wet hair stuck to his forehead. He found him even more beautiful than ever, but so incredibly sad that his heart broke a little.

“But you can wait for him in the rain,” he murmured, realizing that the words left his mouth without intending to. His eyes widened almost as much as Nicky's

He turned to look at him in the eyes. “Yes, I can,” he stated. “It's better, this way.”

“And why's that?”

Nicky only looked down, shaking his head. “It just is. Trust me.”

Joe sighed. “Sorry. I know it's none of my business.”

The man beside him only shook his head, a hand gently squeezing his arm through his coat in mute reassurance and clear prayer to let the subject drop. Joe impulsively put his arm around Nicky's shoulders, pushing the younger man towards his body, a sudden need to protect him screaming to bring him home and give him a cup of hot chocolate and a hug. Much to his surprise, Nicky didn't pull back, instead going with the movement, tilting his head to look at him.

“Would you like me to give you a ride to your apartment?”

“No, but thanks. I don't live there anymore.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I- Steven sold it for me. I live at his place now, it's bigger.”

They stood like that for a minute, simply gazing into each other's eyes. Joe thought that Nicky's were shining more than usual, maybe because of the nearby streetlamp, until he caught a glimpse of the tears that were running down those beautifully high cheeks, mingling with the raindrops. He painfully missed the laughter and easy smiles they had shared that one afternoon when they had met at the grocery store.

“Is everything alright, Nicky?”

Maybe incapable of speaking without completely breaking down, he nodded his head but said nothing. Joe could literally feel his heart breaking.

“Then why are you crying?”

Nicky sobbed, covering his mouth with a hand to muffle the sound. Joe's heart beat faster than ever. He moved his hand up and down Nicky's arm, hoping to soothe him. He waited patiently for Nicky to compose himself, seeing him open and close his mouth a couple of times, willing yet incapable to find the words to explain himself. Joe only made encouraging noises and caressed his damp hair softly.

“I- this is not- I'm not alright.” Nicky finally managed to say. He was shaking with physical effort, his voice raw. “I don't-”

A horn blaring made them both jump. It would have been comical, had Joe not witnessed the way Nicky immediately disentangled himself from their half embrace and shut his mouth, pasting there a plastic smile, eyes wide in – was that fear, he saw there?

“Thank you, Joe, for waiting here with me. It was very kind of you,” Nicky stated, speaking fast and tripping on his own fee, his accent becoming more pronounced. “Have a good night.”

Instinctively, Joe raised his hand to grab Nicky, only to halt the movement midway seeing those imploring eyes glancing from him to the black car waiting a few meters away, and the minute head shake signaling – imploring – him to stop.

“Nicky-”

“I'll see you tomorrow, Joe.”

With that, Nicky crossed the distance separating them from the car and got in. The door opening made the internal light switch on automatically, and Joe took a look at the infamous Steve, who was killing him with his eyes only to point them murderously at Nicky himself as he got in. Then the door closed and the car moved away.

Joe stood there five full minutes before he found the force to shake himself and to walk, heavy steps guiding him on autopilot to his small car, his head still trying to understand what had happened. Nicky been on the brink of confessing what was wrong, had his boyfriend not arrived just then, effectively taking away his only chance to find out. Still, he didn't really need Nicky's explanation anymore, to understand that whatever the problem, Steven was the heart of it. He just hoped his friend would be alright, and took out his phone, thinking of writing him a message, only to stop right before he sent it.

Something told him it would just make matters worse for Nicky, and he didn't really need it.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The car ride was spent in silence.

Immediately, Nicky understood that Steven was angry at what he'd seen, and he berated himself for being such an idiot and serving him the occasion to be mad on a silver plate. If only he'd heard the car arrive, or had resisted Joe's warm, gentle embrace, his night wouldn't be ruined. But Joe was his weak spot, he had been for a long time now, and he couldn't say no to that beautiful man with the bright smile and affectionate manners, nor to the small acts of kindness he always reserved for Nicky.

Sometimes he thought Joe reciprocated his feelings, but he always chastised himself for that idea. Joe was everything Nicky wasn't, attentive and smart, outgoing, charming, with a quick laugh that had people fall in love with him at first sight. He was talented and, most important of all, he was single, while Nicky was only able to make messes and create problems in everything that wasn't work-related, and had a boyfriend. But that night – he had almost opened up to Joe, feeling tired and weak and so small, the burden of his troubles urging to be confessed to a considerate ear willing to listen. Nicky had almost let it out, he'd almost said, no, I'm not alright, and, please, take me away from him.

Streets passed by as they drove to Steven's condo and finally parked in a reserved space. Steven's job guaranteed him many privileges Nicky could only dream of. Silently, they got out of the car and reached the entrance, taking the elevator up to Steven's floor. Nicky could feel his boyfriend's ire, it was almost poisoning the air all around him in a foggy cloud he had no hope to escape from tonight. He exhaled a silent sigh.

When Steven closed the door behind them, Nicky didn't even have time to speak before he found himself bent in half over the kitchen table, his boyfriend pinning him there.

“What the hell was that?!” he screamed, uncaring for Nicky's moan of pain as his cheek hit the table.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?! It didn't look like nothing to me! It looked like you were being a little whore and he couldn't wait to take you right there in the street.”

“He was just waiting with me, sheltering me from the rain.”

“And he needed to put his hands all over you to do that? You're pathetic, Nicky, just a cheap whore.”

“Please, Steven,” Nicky cried, tears escaping his eyes as Steven grabbed a fist of his hair and used them to repeatedly thrust his face against the table, harder and harder each time. Nicky could feel a bruise blossoming on his left cheek already. He tried to turn his head, but it only served to split his lip.

“You don't get to say please! You cheated on me!”

“I would never do that, I swear. He's only a colleague of mine.”

“Good, then you'll resign first thing tomorrow morning, effect immediate, and never go back there ever again. You'll never see that son of a bitch again and most of all he'll keep his dirty hands to himself.”

Nicky's eyes widened in shock. He loved his job, he was born for it, and most of all he loved his colleagues there. They were the family he didn't have as a child, brothers and sisters, if not by blood, then by choice.

Andy was his mentor and he looked up at her everyday; he owed her the life he had been able to build here in London, for hiring him she'd allowed him to leave forever a town where nobody awaited for him anymore. She was witty and sharp, clever and hardened by a life that hadn't been easy, but still always willing to do the right thing. She was his oldest sister, one he adored.

Quynh and Booker were like siblings, always joking and teasing but so loving, so funny to be around, and Nicky knew that they would be there if he ever needed them. Quynh's hard life had shaped her into a no-bullshit kind of person who could judge the person in fron of her with extreme accuracy. Despite her upbringing, she could make him laugh almost to tears; she was sarcastic and ironic. Quynh was also honest to the point of being blunt and he loved her for her sincerity, even when it hurt, even when she was criticizing him. Her opposite, and yet much more similar than he let through, were Booker's manners and dark, self-depreciating humor. He was a complex man, sometimes melancholic and bitter, and not always pleasant, but Nicky loved him all the same; sometimes they fought or had discussions, but they always found a way to smother their differences, and they worked well together. Nicky thought himself lucky for having been granted the honor of his friendship.

Nile, sweet Nile, was still a child, and yet Nicky saw so much potential in her; she was wiser than her age, ingenious yet sharp, and very resolute, sometimes even stubborn. She'd been with them for a few months now and Nicky already saw her as a younger sister to protect and care for. He often regretted not having made a greater effort to know her better and spend more time together, always having something else demanding his attention, be it more work to do, or Steven. Still, he considered her a friend and, if her frequent and not-so-subtle checking up on him was anything to go by, he had a soft spot for him, too.

And then there was Joe. Joe was... Joe was Joe. Nicky couldn't find the words to describe him. He was everything Nicky wished to be; well-mannered, charming, competent, confident, and kindhearted. When Nicky looked at Joe, the first thing adjective that came to his mind was: fascinating, intriguing; and he didn't mean only in a physical way, although Joe could compete with professional models in Nicky's humble opinion, but also for his brightness, his cleverness. Nicky admired him, and not only like one would admire a friend, he was honest enough to admit to himself. Joe was personified poetry. Nicky was _scared_ , when he thought of what Joe was to him.

“No, Steven.”

“Then you are having an affair! I knew it!” he hollered, punching the table a couple of centimeters in front of Nicky's nose.

Nicky let out a cry of fear, his body trembling. “No, I swear I'm not. Steven, I swear.”

Steven's hands grabbed his hips, one reaching to his front to grope at his groin, and Nicky hissed at the feeling of his limp flesh being constricted like that. “Steven! What are you doing?!” Nicky buckled, effectively pulling away from Steven's grasp.

“Stop acting like a righteous virgin!” Steven spat, slapping him so hard that he got whiplash.

He let out a whimper, and Steven didn't let him go all but he still took a step back. Steven looked momentarily astounded by his own actions, but the he shook himself. From the corner of his eye, Nicky could see him shake his head, mouth a flat, hard line made of white lips.

“You're not having an affair, uh?”

Nicky shook his head. “I'm not, I swear,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Then it shouldn't be a problem, leaving.”

“I like my job, you know how much it means to me! I can't leave it.”

“That's not my problem. You should've thought of the consequences before you decided to make the heart eyes to that fucking loser, a dirty immigrant of all things, and to humiliate _me_ like that. Now I need to make sure you're never seeing him again,” he growled, finally letting Nicky go to march to their bedroom.

His body slumped against the table, Nicky being incapable to getting on his feet. He stood there, looking at the wall in front of him, mind numb. What could he do now?

* * *

“Where's Nicky?” Joe asked Booker the following morning.

“He called in sick, said he needs a few days, maybe the whole week. Flu.”

It was plausible. Nicky had been soaking wet the night before. And yet, Joe couldn't concentrate on his work the whole day, and his scheme was such a mess he had to re-draw it from scratch twice.

* * *

11.06 - Joe: Hi Nicky. Is everything okay? Are you sick? Get well soon.

14.21 - Joe: Listen, maybe I'm being a paranoid idiot, and please forgive me if that's the case. I don't mean to overstep, but I'm a bit worried.

14.21 - Joe: I think there might be something wrong with you, maybe in your relationship?

14.21 - Joe: If you need to talk... just give me a call, I'll answer.

18.37 - Joe: I lied. I'm very worried. Please tell me you're alright.

* * *

Nicky was laying in Steven's bed, looking at the ceiling as the man beside him slept soundly. It had been two days since Nicky got some sleep and he felt exhausted, but his body couldn't shake the sensation that he had to stay alert, still too wired up to relax and close his eyes.

He'd called in sick at work, Andy immediately telling him to take as much time as he needed and to come back when he felt well. There had been a vein of suspicion on her voice, but Nicky had pretended not to notice. She'd been so kind, immediately worried for his health, that Nicky had felt bad for lying to her face in such a way. It was rare to find a supervisor that understanding and kind, and Nicky's heart clenched at the thought of having to leave. But he'd already taken three days off, he couldn't temporize anymore.

Steven was irremovable, but he couldn't resign from his job just like that. He was seeing this as the beginning of the end, yet another sacrifice to make in order to keep alive a toxic relationship that privately he'd begun thinking a long time ago wasn't worth the effort anymore. Not to mention, it would leave Nicky totally depending on his boyfriend, and that was unacceptable.

He blinked, too tired to feel despair and to cry anymore. There was only one way out.

Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was almost six; the alarm would blare in a few minutes, signing the beginning of another day. Next to him, Steven awoke lazily, smiling softly in the morning light and Nicky for a moment felt a last flicker of love love burn in his veins again, making him feel sorry for what he was about to do.

“Good morning, beautiful. Did you sleep well?” Steven asked.

Nicky looked him in the eyes for a moment before speaking.

“I'm leaving.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The first thing he felt upon regaining consciousness, was the pain flaring all along the left side of his face. It throbbed and hurt like hell, making Nicky lay still, aware that was he to move too fast, he would get sick. He was on the bedroom floor, his neck bent at an awkward angle with his head resting against the side of the bed. For a moment he thought he'd fallen from the bed while sleeping, then he heard Steven talk to someone in the living room, presumably on the phone.

“Yes, it's me. I think I hurt Nicky... No, of course not mom! I didn't do it on purpose, he brought it upon himself...”

Just like that, everything came back to his memory. He had told Steven that he would leave, and his boyfriend – well, not anymore as far as he was concerned – had become furious, more than Nicky had ever seen him. His mind was still fuzzy, but he remembered the slap he'd received, hard, on his cheek. The pain had bloomed like an ugly poisonous flower, infecting the whole area just as he'd been hit again, and again, on his face, on his arms, on his chest. A kick had found his sheen and he'd rolled over, trying to get away from the monster beside him on the bed, but he'd been grabbed and forcefully shoved back. Steven had trapped him underneath him, grabbing his hair into a fist and repeatedly banging his head against the mattress. Then his fingers had closed around his neck as he kept screaming, calling him an ungrateful bitch, Italian scum, undeserving little shit only good for one use and one use only.

Black spots were dancing in front of his eyes when Nicky pushed back with as much force as he was capable of, which was quite a lot considering his physical state as of late. He may have been thinner, but he was also more athletic than Steven, and his push was quite effective in throwing him away, freeing Nicky from the human cage. As quick as he could, he'd rolled towards the side of the bed and got to his feet, when the room had tilted and he'd lost his balance. Everything had become black after that, until he'd woken up again.

Nicky groaned, using his arms to push himself into a sitting position. His hand looked for his cellphone on the nightstand, blindly feeling for it until his fingers felt its smooth surface and grabbed it. In the other room, Steven was still talking.

“No you don't understand, God you're so fucking dumb... No, I can't call an ambulance, do you want me to get arrested?… You're not making any sense, shut up and give the phone to dad, you're useless...”

Nicky grimaced, thinking about the poor woman on the other end of the line and feeling an awkward kind of solidarity for her. He'd never met her personally, but he'd seen her in a couple of pictures that Steven kept in his living room, a petite woman with solemn dark eyes who never smiled for the camera. If her son talked to her that way, he couldn't even begin to think how her husband treated her – probably in the same way Steven treated Nicky. He shivered.

“Dad? Yes, that's me... I don't know what she's talking about, she always has to complain about something, you know it as well as I do... I need your help... Yes, I- I fucked up, for real this time... Don't tell me I've always had a bed temper, for God's sake! You're one to talk... Yes, sorry, sorry...”

Nicky got on his feet with a barely contained groan. He tried to move as swiftly as possible and without making any noise. He pulled on a pair of trousers, socks and shoes. He had to move. Every molecule in his body urged him to leave, immediately. His limp and his shaky legs weren't so cooperative, though.

“I need the number of that friend of yours, the doctor one... Yes, of course I wasn't that stupid and I didn't call an ambulance, that's why I need that number... Yes, yes, you call him, okay... You tell him to come over as soon as he can, I'll pay whatever amount he pleases, but he has to guarantee me he'll keep his mouth shut. Nobody can know about this...”

With a lot of effort, Nicky managed to pull on a hoodie over the first t-shirt he could find in the wardrobe. Rummaging through the stuff on the desk, he found his wallet and Steven's. Regretting nothing, he opened it and pulled out all the bills he found – which were a lot, considering Steven's habit to just walk around with a small treasure in his back pocket. Nicky put half the sum in his own wallet, and the other half in his left shoe.

“Yes, yes, I'll wait here. I'll make sure he doesn't get to go anywhere... You're right, how could I not think about it. I'll hide the phone immediately, and his cellphone too, so he can't call anyone... No, I don't need to calm down!... I-... Okay, yes, I'll go wash my face now, and then I'll check on him...”

Nicky walked to the mirror next to the half closed bedroom door and looked at himself, horrified by what he saw. His face was purple with bruises that were blooming all over his skin, some from two days ago, some fresh from that morning. It was impressively asymmetrical, with the left side swollen and terribly numb, an eyes half closed, the other with a blooming bruise. There was blood at the corner of his mouth where lips had met both teeth and hard English hands, breaking in a smeared cut. And his neck... Good God, the bruises that were already forming had the shape of fingers. Had Steven really strangled him that hard? Had he really meant to hurt him like that?

Going back to the wardrobe again, he grabbed a scarf and made sure to cover most of the bruises with it.

“Yes, dad, I know. I know... Okay... Bye...”

A door opened and closed, and the noise of water beginning to run alerted Nicky that Steven was in fact in the bathroom. This was his chance. His _only_ chance.

Sprinting forward, he crossed the living room in quick yet silent strides, reaching the entrance door when the water was still running. He tried to lower the handle but it wasn't enough to open the door, which was locked. Beginning to panic and knowing there wasn't much time left, he fervently looked around for the keys, finally locating them underneath Steven's car keys. He grabbed them and put them in the keyhole, twisting until he heard the lock click and unlock. Nicky opened the door immediately and sprinted down the corridor toward the elevator, Steven's old neighbor – Mrs. Johnson, if he remembered correctly – looking at him like one would a serial killer leaving the house of his latest victim.

Nicky halted to a stop, heaving, already trying to find an excuse for his neglected aspect, when the woman's eyes softened a fraction. Just as the elevator door opened in front of her, he heard Steven calling his name from inside the apartment. It was only a matter of seconds before he would notice Nicky's absence.

“Get in,” Mrs. Johnson ordered him, holding the door open for him. Her eyes were resolute and wise.

“I-”

“You run as fast as you can, dear. I really thought he'd killed you this morning, when I heard him screaming. I was about to call the police, then everything went quiet. Now come on, don't waste precious time standing there!”

Nicky slipped in, expecting the old woman to get in too, but she just regarded him with a gentle smile and blue eyes surrounded by more wrinkles than he could count.

“Don't come back, dear. Whatever he might say, whatever he might promise you, no matter how much you miss that shirt or those sweaters or the old family photos you may have left there – you _don't come back_. Understood?” she asked as the doors were beginning to close and Steven's calling became louder.

Nicky only nodded, speechless. “Thank you,” he murmured a split second before the doors locked and the elevator began its descent.

(Mrs. Johnson bought him precious time, telling Steven that Nicky had gone downstairs using the stairs and wobbling precariously, having been frightened by her standing in front of the elevator. It took Steven double the time it did Nicky to reach the lobby, and by then Nicky had already hopped into a cab.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update will be in about two weeks.
> 
> If you wish, leave a comment or a kudos, it will make me very happy, and most important of all... stay safe!


	4. Let today be the day you start to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! First of all, let me thank all of you kind readers for the overwhelming response to the third chapter of this fic. I am humbled and honored. Thank you.
> 
> As for this new one, there are no particular trigger warnings for the chapter.
> 
> Please, enjoy!
> 
> Post Scriptum: as previously said, I do not have a beta; kindly forgive me for any eventual mistakes.
> 
> Post Post Scriptum: I have received a couple of messages on Tumblr, to which I replied privately, asking for faster updates. Unfortunately, I cannot do any more than I already am. In real life, I do Nicky's job, the hours are long and I manage to reserve a couple of hours every week to write, which (as you can imagine) is not a lot. Or at least, it is not a lot for me, since I am very slow. Personally, I'm pretty amazed that so far I have managed to update every ten to twelve days!
> 
> Now - for real - enjoy the chapter!

Joe's cellphone began vibrating on his desk, rudely interrupting his carefully constructed train of thoughts. Booker made an annoyed sound while Joe took a peak at the number, which wasn't in his contact list. Frowning, he swiped his thumb on the green icon and answered.

“Hello?”

“Yes, uh, is this Mr., uh, Joe?” an unfamiliar voice, raspy from too many cigarettes smoked and with an heavy Spanish accent, asked him. There was a vein of panic in it that had Joe on alert.

“Yes, and who's this?”

“I'm Josè. I called you because my passenger here gave me your number, and that of a certain Andy, too, but her? His? Whatever, Andy's line is occupied, so I tried with you.”

Joe was on his feet before he could register it. Booker glanced up at him and made a questioning noise, but Joe didn't pay him any mind.

“Who's your passenger? Why're they not calling me directly?”

“I don't- He is-” Josè took a deep breath. “I think he might be hurt, but he doesn't want to go to the hospital. He gave me the address of an office building, so I'm there now, but he doesn't look like he can really move on his own, and when I asked if I could help him, he said, _call Andy_ , and he gave me the number, and then yours.”

Joe grabbed his jacket and made it to to the corridor quicker than any professional runner. He ignored Booker's questions and almost crashed into Nile, then he was out of the door and flying down the steps. He had a suspicion that he couldn't shake.

“Where are you?”

Josè rattled down the address of their office building and Joe cursed.

“I'll be there in a minute. Don't move!”

He closed the call and stumbled down the last few steps, then out into the street. The sun blinded him and he had to shade his eyes with his hand to squint and see a young man standing awkwardly next to a cab. As soon as he spotted him, he waved and gestured for him to get closer, which Joe didn't lose any time to do.

“Josè?” he asked, just to be sure.

“That's me. I'm sorry Mr. Joe, I didn't know what to do, but I couldn't just kick him out of the car and leave him there on his own.”

Joe bent and peered into the window to the backseat. He cursed so loudly at what he saw that for a moment he feared to be struck by lightning, even though he couldn't really care. For, in the backseat, slumped over and with a hoodie and a scarf trying to mask his beaten face as much as possible, was a trembling Nicky who was staring back at him, spooked like a deer.

“I didn't mean to bother you. I'm sorry,” he murmured with a broken voice and Joe had to physically restrain himself from jumping in the car to hug him as hard as he could. But no, that wouldn't really help anyone right now, would it?

So, instead, he simply reached out his hand and softly grasped Nicky's, his thumb automatically rubbing slow circles in a soothing motion.

“Hey, it's not a problem, Nicky. Don't worry about it,” he said, trying to smile in reassurance.

Still holding his hand, he turned to Josè who had tactfully given him some space.

“Can you take us to the nearest ER?”

“Yes, of course,” Josè replied, already walking toward the driver's seat.

Joe thanked him and made to let go of Nicky's hand to close the door, but he moaned pitifully.

“Hey, it's alright Nicky, I'm just getting in from the other side. It's okay,” he said gently, squeezing his fingers for good measure. As soon as he got in, he took Nicky's hand once more. Josè immediately drove away from the curb. “See? I'm here. It's fine, we're gonna be fine.”

Nicky was shaking quite badly. Joe looked at him at a loss of what to do, fervently hoping against all hope that the situation wouldn't be as bad as it looked like. From time to time, Josè glanced back at them in the rear-view mirror, but ne never said anything and he kept his attention on the road. Faster than Joe could have hoped, they were in front of the ER, and Joe was grabbing his wallet. Josè shook his head.

“No need to pay me. Just make sure he is okay,” he said, but Joe forced a bill into his hand.

“You did more than an obligation to,” Joe replied. “Thank you Josè. Thank you.”

Josè merely nodded at him and held open the door as Joe slowly helped Nicky out of the car and on his feet. Then, as he closed it and was about to get back into the cab, Joe asked, “Josè, do you remember where you picked him up?”

Josè looked at him and quickly said the address. “Though I didn't pick him up; he stopped me, running into the street as if the devil was chasing him. He actually gave me a heart attack.”

Joe thanked him and let him go. Then he turned his attention back on Nicky and began guiding him. It took way too long, but they managed to slowly make their way down the ramp and toward the automatic doors of the ER. Nicky's steps were short and unsure, and he was limping visibly. His face, now that Joe could look at it in the sun, was terrible, a mosaic of purples and yellows; and that was only what he could see of it.

In the inner pocket of his leather jacket, Joe felt his cellphone vibrating once more, but he didn't have a hand to spare to take it out and check the caller's ID; they would have to wait.

Supporting much of Nicky's weight, they limped to the triage desk where a nurse was already on her feet as they approached, walking around it and taking Nicky's elbow with professional moves. Joe told her Nicky's name when she asked, and when she inquired to Nicky what had happened, he didn't reply. He was trembling so much by then that it was a wonder Joe couldn't hear his teeth clinking. She pointed her attention at Joe as they made their way to an empty bed where she helped Nicky to sit. Joe, though, had no answers for her either, and when she asked if he was Nicky's next of kin, he shook his head.

“No, I'm his friend. We work together,” Joe said.

“Does he have any family? Someone we could call?”

Joe immediately thought of Nicky's boyfriend, and just as quickly squished the idea. “He doesn't. I don't know if he has any emergency contacts.”

The woman frowned, looking worriedly at Nicky as she still kept a secure hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Di Genova, do you have someone we can contact?” she asked him directly.

Nicky glanced up at her, then let his head fall again, as if that small movement was already too much of an effort. “Andromache,” he said.

The nurse, bless her, looked at him confusedly, surely not having understood the strange name.

“It's Andy, our boss. I can call her if you need me to,” Joe was quick to say.

The nurse nodded. He helped Nicky lay down on the bed fully, asked him if he was comfortable enough and pressed a samll button into his hand. “I will call a doctor to check on you, Mr. Di Genova. You press that red button if you need any assistance, okay?”

Nicky nodded, his beautiful eyes staring unfocused at the ceiling. It apparently was all the confirmation she needed, for the nurse ushered Joe away and pulled blue curtains around Nicky's bed to grant him some privacy. Then, when they were alone in the corridor, she sighed, almost slumping against the wall. Joe wondered how many cases like Nicky's she witnessed everyday.

“Do you know who did that to him?” she asked. There was no need to clarify what she was referring to: the beating was unmistakable.

Joe shook his head. “No. I have my suspicions but...” he trailed off with a shrug. He couldn't rightfully point his finger and accuse Nicky's boyfriend, no matter what everybody – he himself included – seemed to think of him.

She let out a long breath, slowly. “Okay. Okay. I'll call a doctor, we will examine him, then we will ask if he wants to file a complaint with the police.”

Joe nodded. He fervently hoped Nicky would, yet he already knew it was a lost cause. The nurse seemed to have the same suspicions.

“Please, call his emergency contact. Ask her to come by as soon as possible. I will be back shortly. Oh, over there are some seats,” she said, pointing at a cluster of plastic chairs in a corner, then left.

Joe stood there for a moment, trying to process what had happened, and shakily made it to the chair before he slumped down like a dead weight. His hands were beginnign to shake, he realized, the adrenaline wearing off. He knew he had to call Andy when he was still lucid enough to do it, when he had yet to fully register the enormity of what had happened to Nicky, the man he secretly loved.

He pulled out his phone, and saw two lost calls and a few messages which he ignored, instead he found Andy's contact and dialed the number. It took a moment for the line to connect, and instantly she picked up.

“Where are you and what's going on?” she immediately asked.

Joe closed his eyes, feeling so tired and so scared all of a sudden. “It's Nicky. We're at the ER,” was all he said. He told her the address of the hospital. Then, “It looks bad, Andy. He was beaten up.”

For a moment there was a deafening silence on the other end of the line. Then a string of curses in Greek was heard.

“Goddammit. I knew this was going to happen. I'll be there in thirty minutes, top,” she said when she calmed down. Then, “Fuck!” Joe could hear her move around in her office, grabbing her bag and a coat. “Joe?”

“Yes?”

“Hold on.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

He disconnected the call and put the phone away. Joe let his head fall back until it thumped against the wall, and closed his eyes. With a groan, he raised his hands to cover his face and bit the inside of his cheek until he drew blood, in his best attempt not to scream and trash up the place. Joe hid his face in his hands and slumped over until his elbows were resting on his knees.

How could it have happened, he wondered. Why didn't he stop it before it did? There all had their suspicions, Nicky's strange behavior had been going on for months now. Why had none of them ever asked him what was wrong, directly? What was it with society and it's sense of boundaries and privacy that had them all hid their heads in the sand while their friends suffered for fear of coming across as too curious or nosy, while the man Joe secretly loved was abused to such an extent? There had been signs, that much was undeniable. And yet, they had done nothing.

Joe felt a wave of shame and rage wash over him. His fear to overstep and to accidentally declare his sentiments to Nicky had stopped him from trying to prevent this horrible situation, and for what? For fear of being rejected? For fear of being mocked? But Nicky would never mock him, he knew, and what if his words of concern were met with coldness? At least, he could have said that he had tried. And maybe, just maybe, Nicky would have opened up like he almost had that fateful night not a week before, under the pouring rain, before his boyfriend had shown up.

 _Maybe I should have called_ , he thought. _I sent him a couple of texts, but I could have asked Andy for his address, I could have found an excuse to drop by his house. Then maybe all this could have been avoided_.

He was drowning in remorse and resentment when a cool hand touched his shoulder. Joe jumped three feet in the air and looked up at Andy, who was looming over him. He wondered how many infractions she had committed to get there so fast. Then again, half an hour could easily have passed without him noticing, who knew.

Andy sat down next to him. “How is he?”

And Joe... Joe just lost it. He was sobbing in her chest before he even knew what was happening.

“His face, Andy... it looked like he'd been used as a punching bag for days, and I could see maybe only half of it,” he cried.

She made an enraged noise but her fingers were gentle as they pressed against his nape.

“Joe...”

“He could barely stand on his own, let alone walk.”

“Dammit.”

“You know, he apologized for inconveniencing me.” Joe sobbed as a hysterical laugh escaped him. With each tear that fell, he felt a little better, as if the stress that had been building over during the whole morning, during the last few months, slowly slipped away. “The first thing he said was, _sorry to bother you._ ”

Andy's grip on him tightened. “He's a strong man, Joe. Stronger than he lets on. He will be okay and we will be there to help him along the way,” she said, not a hint of doubt in her voice.

“What kind of monster could have convinced him to be an hindrance to such an extent?”

Andy stroked his curls, but stayed silent for a long while. “I don't know,” she whispered. “But I will find out, and they will pay for it.”

It was a promise, and Joe had no doubt she would maintain it. Andromache was many things, but a liar wasn't one of them. She was the strongest woman he had ever met, capable, caring and exceptionally humorous, loyal to the extreme, and she had a habit to always, _always_ keep her promises.

They stood like that, side by side in heavy silence, watching people move by around them. Injured and sick patients came in every few minutes, nurses and doctors alike hurried by to tend to their needs. Time passed in a blur.

“I should've done something,” at some point Joe muttered.

Andy made a questioning sound.

“I suspected that something was wrong, Nicky himself almost told me just the night before he called in sick, but I feared to overstep, to pry.”

Andy squeezed his shoulder. “So did I, and Quynh, and I think Booker and Nile, too. Don't beat yourself up, Joe. We can't change the past.”

“But you did it out of respect for him!” Joe said, raising his voice. “Do you know why _I_ didn't want to intrude?” he asked her.

“No.”

“Because I was concerned that he would notice how I look at him.”

“Like he hang the moon and the stars for you, you mean?” she teased him lightly.

“Yes,” he confirmed, shamelessly. The time to be ashamed, to be scared, was over. “I was afraid that he would notice it and be offended. I risked losing him _forever_ because I'm such a coward.”

“And yet you're the one he called when he found my line occupied, and he called me first only because I am his official medical contact here in England, but something tells me he would've called you anyway even if I had picked up.” She sounded amused, like she could see something that Joe was missing, and would have to figure out on his own.

Joe didn't really have anything to refute to that. He mulled on the thought that maybe he'd done something right, after all, even if he couldn't figure out what, and remained sitting as time went by.

Then, almost two hours after their arrival, the same nurse that had helped him and Nicky walked up to them, a doctor following her. Joe immediately got on his feet, and Andy was quick to follow his lead. Once it was clear that she was Nicky's contact and she assured them that Joe could stay, they told them about their friend's state. He had a sprained wrist, a mild concussion, and various bruises in different stages of healing on most of his chest and facial area; a black eye completed the horrific picture.

“Good God,” Andy said, voice faint. She looked ready to tear someone to pieces.

“There were also signs of strangulation,” the doctor went on. “The bruises on his neck will be there for a couple of weeks at least, and his muscles will be stiff and sore, which is to be expected.”

Joe closed his eyes, torn between the need to let himself crumble to pieces right there and cry all his tear, the instinct to go hug Nicky and never let him out of his sight again, and the wish to find that bastard Steven, for in his mind there was no doubt about the identity of Nicky's abuser, and kill him with his bare hands. If Andy's clenched fists were of any indications, she would more than gladly hold Steven still while Joe did the deed.

As it was, though, he did none of that. Instead he asked if Nicky needed to stay the night.

“No, there's no need for it. He has already signed all the needed papers and will be with you shortly, at the condition that someone stays with him for the next forty-eight hours.”

“He'll stay with me,” Joe heard himself say.

Andy glanced at him, then nodded.

“That's settled, them. Nurse, please go help him get dressed again.” The doctor turned his attention to Joe. “If he throws up, has any problem seeing or focusing, or appears confused, you have to bring him back here.”

“I will, doctor. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” echoed Andy. Then, as the doctor was turning to go attend to another patient, she called after him. “Did he say who did that to him?”

The doctor looked at them with resigned eyes. “He fell. That's his version.”

“What?!” Andy exclaimed, her heckles raising.

“I'm sorry. We asked him repeatedly, but he maintains that it was an accident.”

“That's bullshit and you know it,” Joe said before he could stop himself. It wasn't like the poor doctor was at fault, still he was the most convenient target available for Joe to vent his frustration.

The doctor looked at him darkly. “Believe me, I see more cases like this than I can count.”

“But it's clear he didn't fall!”

“Joe,” Andy warned.

“He is an adult, and there is nothing I can do,” the doctor replied. Just like that, he got back to his duties and Joe cursed.

“I can't believe it!” Joe exclaimed. “This is bullshit, Andy. Bullshit. I'm gonna talk to him. He'll tell us what really happened, who beat him, then we'll go to the police and the motherfucker will be arrested.”

“Joe,” Andy put a hand on his arm. “Calm down. Nicky needs you to keep cool now.” She was being the voice of reason, trying to stay collected, even if it was physically difficult for her to do it. If she could have it her way, she would have forced Nicky to talk. As it was, though, that wasn't an option.

“How can I calm down? How can I just drop the matter and act as if nothing's wrong, when the man _I love_ looks like he lost a boxing match against Muhammed Ali?” Joe cried.

Andy's lips formed a thin line. “I know. We will get there, I promise you. Nicky will open up, but he needs to do it at his own pace, on his own volition. We can't, and we _won't_ , pressure him.”

“But then there'll be no evidence of his state!” Joe protested.

“Then what do you want to do, Joe?” Andy asked him, her patience thinning. “You want to force him? Then, let me be blunt here, you'll be exactly like his boyfriend.” Joe silenced up immediately, stunned; he wondered what kind of face he was doing as Andy narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes, I know it was that asshole who beat him up, or do you think I'm an idiot?” Andy asked, clearly irritated, misunderstanding the reason behind Joe's muteness.

Joe shook his head. “No, I... I mean, I think we all had our suspicions on him, I for one am completely sure he's the bastard who did it. That's not it. I just... I didn't think about it. In my anger, I couldn't see clearly.”

Andy frowned. “What didn't you think about?”

“About being like him. Like his boyfriend. But you're right, if I force him, I won't be any better than that,” Joe sighed. He was so tired, and it was only mid afternoon. He felt like he'd just finished fighting a war. “I need to calm down before he gets here.”

“We both do,” Andy agreed. She patted his arm and went down the corridor, searching in her pockets for some change, and when she found it, she approached the vending machines that Joe had completely missed. She came back with a cup of coffee for herself and a bottle of water for him. At his noise of protest, she replied with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to calm down?”

Joe grumbled, but took the water and drank half the bottle before he screwed the cap on once more, just in time for Nicky to emerge from the corner. At his appearance, Andy let out a faint noise like a poor doe wounded by an hunter. Joe himself was sure he would've reacted exactly like that, had he not already seen Nicky's face, at least partially. Now though, it was on full display, no more fabric to hide it, and it was terrible to watch. The explanation of his injuries given by the doctor wasn't enough to cover his state.

“Hey, Nicky,” Andy said softly, recovering quickly.

She moved towards him, then slowly, telegraphing her movements, she put an arm around his shoulders and a hand on the nape of his neck, and hugged him tenderly, guiding his head down against her own neck. Nicky stood tense at first then, slowly, he melted into the embrace, and Joe heard him sniffle a couple of times. When Andy let him go, his eyes were red rimmed but dry, as if he'd lost the ability to tear up along with everything else. Andy placed a kiss on his cheek, tenderly, trying to avoid any bruised area.

Joe let them have their moment, then stepped closer to Nicky himself and put a hand on his arm. Nicky looked calm enough, so Joe decided to give it a try and hug him himself. Astonishingly, Nicky was just as compliant with him as he'd been with Andy, and as his body sagged against his own, Joe felt how warm he was, and how tired. He wondered if Nicky was in shock, pliant as he was; it wouldn't be surprising.

“Come on,” Andy said, trying her best to smile. She took Nicky's right hand and gently prompted him to walk toward the exit. “Let's go.”

Nicky followed them, pliant and silent. Andy and Joe exchanged a worried look over his head, but figured it best to just let him be for now. It had been a taxing day for them all, and for Nicky in particular. Only when they reached Andy's car he seemed to find his voice once more.

“Thank you. You're losing so much time because of me,” he murmured, voice scratching because of the deep purple bruises adorning his neck.

“Nonsense. There's nowhere else we'd rather be in similar circumstances,” Andy said firmly.

“We're not losing any time,” Joe confirmed.

Nicky still looked unsure, but he didn't reply. Instead, he asked, “Where am I going now?”

“At my place. I told the doctor you would stay there.”

Once more, worryingly but predictably, Nicky didn't protest. They got in the car, and didn't speak anymore as they slowly made their way through traffic to Joe's apartment.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Nicky, you take the bed. It's not a problem, really. I'll sleep on the couch.”

“No, Joe. Please. I'm already bothering you so much...”

“You're not. I promise.”

“I still don't feel comfortable knowing that you have to sleep here while I am in your bed,” Nicky protested, but Joe simply smiled.

“Don't worry about it. I fall asleep on the couch almost every night anyway! What's one more?”

“You shouldn't have to give up your bed because of me,” Nicky still muttered, eyes lowered.

Joe smiled, benevolently, and painfully.

He knew that Nicky wasn't trying t be difficult, that he was talking like that after months of conditioning, and that it would take a very long time for him to stop – he may have spent the half-hour Nicky locked himself into the bathroom as soon as they got to his apartment to do some much needed research on trauma, physical and psychological abuse. Still, it hurt to hear it. Joe tried not to let it show.

“I want to,” he reassured Nicky once more. He made sure to keep his tone light and carefully patient, hoping that it would help Nicky relax a bit.

Joe's apartment was big enough, but he only had one bedroom; it was an issue that he hadn't taken into consideration when he'd offered to host his friend. Maybe, thinking about it, Andromache's place would've been better, for she and Quynh had a guest bedroom, but it wasn't an insurmountable obstacle. Joe was more than glad to give it up for Nicky; there was no question he would get it, period.

In the end, it took a bit of coaxing, but he managed to have Nicky settled down comfortably in a pair of Joe's old sweatpants before too long. He had insisted on keeping the hoodie, though, and even if Joe could see that it was an old, well-worn thing, he also understood that it was probably one of the very few possession Nicky still had, until they found a way to get all his stuff back from his boyfriend's place. If Joe had any saying in it, he would never go back there, no matter what.

As for said boyfriend, Nicky still hadn't said anything about it, and Joe did his best to keep in mind Andy's wise words and didn't bring u the subject.

They had a light dinner, just some instant soup and crackers, which was spent mostly in silence. Joe wondered what a typical dinner for Nicky was like, but immediately steered thoughts away from that particular subject. A part of him wanted to know desperately, in order to be aware of what to do to precisely counterbalance every single one of the actions of that bastard that was Merrick; another part was honestly afraid. Furthermore, Nicky looked like he was in pain once again, a bit more for every moment that passed, the painkiller administered at the hospital having worn off by then. Yet, he still tried to help Joe clean up and wash the dishes; he actually _insisted_ on doing it. He looked physically ill as Joe gently but firmly told him not to worry, that he didn't have to do any chores he didn't want to, especially not now. His heart broke when Nicky flinched, _hard_ , when Joe gently put a hand on his arm, and his face grew sickly pale in a matter of moments as Joe dropped it with abundant apologies. Actually, Joe's heart broke each time he looked at Nicky's face, with all those bruises and the black eye.

Finally, it wasn't even ten PM and they had both settled down for the night, Nicky in Joe's bed with the door closed and Joe on his couch with bar of chocolate and the TV in the background. His mind kept thinking about something Andy had told him a few hours before.

“ _Joe?”_

“ _Mhh?”_

“ _You'll need to be careful. Nicky... He mustn't know how you feel about him.”_

“ _Andy, do you really believe I'd ever take advantage of him in a moment like this? You should know me better than that!”_

“ _That's not what I meant. I'm thinking about him projecting and seeing you and Steven as the same person.”_

“ _Oh. Oh!”_

“ _He needs to recover for his own sake, Joe, not because he thinks that he has to somehow please you, to reach your standards. And he needs to find himself before he can even begin to consider the possibility of another relationship. He'll grow to despise and fear you, otherwise.”_

The idea of Nicky hating him had Joe feel sick. He wondered if he was being careful enough in concealing his emotions, his feelings. He wondered if he could do it, because Nicky was so easy to love, so easy to be affectionate with, that forcing himself to hold back felt unnatural, wrong, and even cheating.

At the same time, he worried that he would lose his chance. He'd already risked losing Nicky once, for his fear to show his true emotions. He didn't want to make the same mistake again.

Suddenly Nicky's door opened and the Italian walked out, holding something in his hand.

“Everything alright?” Joe immediately asked, getting up from the couch. “You want one more blanket?”

He was really trying hard not to fret too much, but it was difficult. If he could have it his way, he would hug Nicky tight and never let him go.

Nicky blushed and shook his head. “No, I'm good. Thank you.” He held out his hand and the object, a black phone, in it. “I forgot to grab the charger. It was already dead, this morning. I wonder if you have a spare one?”

Joe took the phone, a surpassed model. The connection was of a shape different from his, and Joe was about to tell him that they would have to wait until the following day before an idea popped into his mind.

“I'll be right back,” he told Nicky, then ran at the door and got out of the house. He was in his pajamas, but he didn't care; he didn't need to go far, after all.

The door right in front of his was Booker's, who Joe knew had the same phone as Nicky's. Actually, he'd been complaining about how slow it worked lately and was looking for a new one. Joe rang the bell twice, waiting for the man to open the door, holding a glass of liqueur and scowling, ready to tell whoever was bothering him to fuck off. As he recognized Joe, his demeanor changed abruptly.

“Joe? What's up?” he asked, sounding worried. “Is Nicky okay?”

 _Oh_. Joe wasn't expecting that question. Then, he realized that Andy must have told them where she was going before leaving, and probably had alerted everybody that he wouldn't come to the office for a couple of days, and Nicky for even longer. They had a group chat which Joe hadn't looked at today, not wanting to answer any possible questions.

“Yes, he is,” he carefully replied, tone neutral.

Booker moved to the side and let Joe in; his apartment was an exact copy of Joe's, only some of the furniture being different. On the shelf near the entrance was a picture of his late wife that Joe had caught glimpses of before; she had been a beautiful woman, with kind eyes and a joyful smile.

“I know you've not looked at your phone, probably,” Booker said. “But Quynh wrote a message earlier. Andy told her what happened. I would've come over, but I figured Nicky needed some time.” He took a deep breath. “And I didn't know how I would have reacted seeing him, if I have to be honest.”

Joe nodded, gratefully. He took Booker's hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for thinking of him; I'm sure he'll be happy to see you, but not today. He won't come back to the office for another couple of weeks.”

“Yes, I know; she told us that, too. She didn't need to specify why, I think we could all guess.” He sounded bitter, and angry, just like Joe felt. He wondered if the Frenchman shared the same remorse as Joe. “Andy has taken up his workload with Nile as her assistant. They're a scary duo, let me tell you.”

“Not as much as Andy and Quynh,” Joe tried to joke.

Booker shivered at the thought, and Joe laughed. “No, luckily no.” He sobered up. “Seriously, though, is Nicky okay?” He didn't mean physically and they both knew it.

“Honestly? No. But he will be, in time.” Joe replied, with a clenched smile. Booker nodded with a grimace. “I'm actually here because he needs a phone charger, and I know you've the same model, so-”

“Say no more,” Booker interrupted him. He rummaged in a drawer and handed him the requested item. “Tell him to keep it, I've got another one.”

“Thank you, Booker.”

The Frenchman simply nodded, but as Joe said goodbye and made to leave, he stopped him by grabbing his sleeve. “What?”

“It's just... Tell him to be safe.” Joe looked at him questioningly, and Booker shrugged, blushing. “It's just, ah, you know, I imagine his boyfriend will try to call him, to convince him to go back...” he trailed off.

“That won't happen,” Joe protested before he could stop himself.

Booker raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I know. I know. Still he needs to be careful, that's all. I thought that maybe it's better if he doesn't know where Nicky is.”

Joe's eyes widened. Booker was right. He hadn't even thought about the possibility of Nicky telling where he was but, after everything he'd gone through, who knew how he would act? What if he involuntarily gave his location up, and the boyfriend came knocking on Joe's door? Oh, he wouldn't have any qualms putting those kickboxing lessons into good use, but Joe would gladly spare Nicky the sight. Which brought him back to the heart of the matter: Nicky had to be careful.

Joe nodded, muttered a thank you, then went back into the corridor. There, he took a deep breath to calm down, willing his nerves to loosen up, before he got into his apartment. He didn't want to leave Nicky alone for long, and Booker's words had put him on edge, suddenly. He couldn't help but glance toward the stairs to check whether someone was coming up, irrational as it was. There was no danger here. Nobody knew where Nicky was, aside from his friends. They were safe, for now; still, Booker was right, it all depended on what Nicky would do with his phone, once it was charged, and at the same time, Joe couldn't hide the charger and feign not having one. The following day, Nicky would want to go buy it. Damn.

He closed the door behind himself and Nicky was sitting on the sofa, studying his hands. He looked up when Joe approached, a hand extended. He was frowning.

“There it is. Booker says you can keep it,” Joe said.

Nicky looked surprised. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Joe spoke softly, debating on how to approach the subject subtly; he had to say something, even if he dedn't know how.

Nicky nodded, and he slowly got on his feet with cautiously studied movements. Joe stood in front of him awkwardly, unsure whether to offer a supporting hand or not, but Nicky made it on his own. He was already moving when Joe finally found the courage to speak.

“Nicky.”

“Hmmm?”

“It's just... You can do whatever you want, and I will never impose anything to you, that needs to be clear. Still, please, be careful with that,” he gestured toward the phone in his hand.

Nicky's eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe it would be better if nobody knew where you are,” Joe blurted out, looking at him meaningfully. He hoped his directness wouldn't offend Nicky, or worse, scare him. Still, it needed to be said, and sugarcoating the pill wouldn't really change its taste, only slightly mask it; Nicky, Joe thought, didn't need people trying to mask, twist, or manipulate reality.

Nicky's eyes lowered. He opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it, seemingly making up his mind. He nodded. “Yes, you're probably right.”

Joe exhaled. “It's just, you know, to be safe. You, we, have to be careful right now, I think.”

“I fell, Joe,” Nicky whispered brokenly, eyes dangerously shiny in the dim light. “There is no danger.”

Joe sighed, biting his tongue. _Now is not the time_ , he reminded himself.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Still... if you can... please don't say anything to anybody you don't fully trust?”

“I won't say anything. I wasn't planning on it, anyway.”

“Good, good.” He nodded, toying with the hem of his shirt. “Sorry, I felt like I needed to say it.”

“It's okay, really. I, uh, appreciate it. Your concern.” Nicky was scratching his neck, as he always did when the situation got awkward, stressful, or embarrassing. He was distraught.

Joe closed his eyes, inhaled, wondering why everything had to be so difficult today. The day had been long and tiring, the evening uncomfortable and strained, and the night was turning out tense and arduous, dangerously bringing them close to having an argument. That wasn't how Joe wanted to spend the next days. None of them deserved it. They were both proven and in dire need of a good rest. He exhaled slowly, doing his best to let go of the negativity that was threatening to submerge him.

“Go to sleep Nicky, you really look like you need it.”

The Italian didn't reply, but he nodded in silent agreement to let the subject drop. After all, Joe had said what he needed; he couldn't do anything more than that.

He slowly made his way back to Joe's room, quietly closing the door behind himself once more. Joe let out a silent long sigh and sat back down on the couch, pulling a blanket up and covering his head, only his curls out. There, underneath the protection of the soft tissue, far from prying eyes and with the sounds muffled by the fabric, he allowed himself to let out a loud groan of frustration. Joe turned on his side and did his best to find a comfortable position, willing himself to go to sleep. He hoped fervently to be able to catch at least a few hours of much-needed rest. He closed his eyes and hoped that tomorrow would be easier.

Then, as he was falling into sweet oblivion not a hour later, Joe suddenly realized that Nicky never made any noise when he moved. He was asleep before he could question why.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nicky sat on the bed stifling a groan. He ached everywhere. The meds administered at the hospital were wearing off, and the prescription they had given his clearly indicated he couldn't take another pill until the following morning. With a sigh, he shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. When he failed, he gave up and stretched his legs on the mattress, effectively lying down. He didn't know if he could fall asleep, but he figured laying was better than spending the night half sitting, half crouching. At least, this way, his sore back could find some relief. His arm itched where the doctor had applied a tight bandage, and his fingers twitched with the need to scratch it.

Belatedly, Nicky became aware of the phone and charger still in his hand. He turned a bit toward the low bedside table, behind which on the wall he had previously noticed a socket, and plugged in the charger, then connected it to the phone. Immediately, the small icon battery-shaped on the right of the screen blinked. Now, all he had to do was switch on the device, and see-

_See what?_

See who had called him? No, he already knew he would find dozens of missed calls and voicemails, and he also knew the caller's ID. See his text messages? _Ibidem_.

Nicky signed, passing a hand on his face in frustration, and immediately wincing at the pain it brought. He let his head fall back against the sheets, contemplating his options. He could charge the phone but keep it switched off for the night, hoping and praying for a miraculous idea to come from the Heavens. Or he could switch it on right now, and see what was waiting for him. After all, it wasn't like he could delay the moment for long.

He switched on the phone, grateful that it had been on silent mode when it had died: in a matter of seconds, the screen was blinking with countless notifications.

26 lost calls from Steven.

14 voicemails from Steven.

37 messages from Steven.

5 missed calls from an unknown number.

Nicky gulped, feeling nauseous at the perspective of having to face all this. A part of him, twisted and stupid, was curious about what he would find if he listened to the voicemails, naively hoping for apologies and promises; another part knew it would find anger, fake desperation, and artfully construed lies. Nicky was tired of those. Nicky was tired of everything. His finger hovered above the screen before he swiped away all those notifications. He held his breath. He opened the message app and deleted all messages archived there, sparing nobody. Next he opened the chronology of missed calls, and deleted all that was listed listed there. Finally, he called the voicemail number, and deleted all messages without listening to them. He couldn't think about the consequences of such actions; if Steven ever knew about it...

But Steven wasn't there. He wouldn't be there. Never. Never again. And yet...

Nicky shook his head, feeling tears pooling in his eyes. He let go of the breath he'd been holding. It was in moments like these that he missed his grandmother the most. He would have given anything, now, for the possibility of calling her. She'd been his rock as he grew up, full of vitality and hope despite her old age, always ready to listen to him with a smile and a wise word of advice. She made him feel better when nobody else could. He missed her hugs now, the safety they brought with the certainty that she would be there for him.

He could go to Joe, Nicky mused. He was sure that the man wouldn't refuse him a hug. But Nicky didn't want to bother him any more than he already was. He had all but imposed his presence in his home; Joe had given up his room and the comfort of his own bed for him, had spent half of his day at the hospital and then had acted like it wasn't a problem, had lent Nicky his clothes pretending that it wasn't a big deal or an inconvenience. But Nicky knew better. Joe was putting up with him because Nicky had nowhere else to go, and because he was a wonderful person, compassionate and thoughtful. He would never refuse help to one in need. But that didn't mean that Nicky could take advantage of his generosity infinitely. No, he wouldn't go back to the living room. Joe had a right to rest and have a good night of sleep; Nicky could be a handful sometimes, he knew.

He considered sending a text to one of his friends. But Booker would probably be asleep by now, and Nile was surely busy with the studies for her master degree; Andy and Quynh would both be awake, insomniac as they were, but Andy had lost so much of her time in the hospital already, and Quynh surely had better things to do rather than listen to him whining about nothing.

The screen suddenly came to life in Nicky's hands, Steven's name appearing in bold letters at his incoming call. Nicky was frozen, paralyzed. Should he answer? Should he tell him not to call anymore, and risk hearing his voice? Should he let it go to voicemail? A bead of sweat ran down his temple. The call went on. Nicky licked his lips, suddenly dried. The screen darkened, the call was over. He let out a sigh of relief, his heart beating against his ribs; he felt lightheaded, on the verge of fainting, unsure of what he would do at the next call.

Before he could process his own thoughts, Nicky's thumb swiped over the screen, opening the rubric. He scrolled down the numbers saved there, good friends from high school in Genova, old study mates from LSE, his colleagues and new-found family, down to the letter S. S like Steven. He opened the contact, thumb hovering on the green icon that would start the call. He pressed the three dots next to it, instead, and searched the menu until he found what he was looking for.

**Block this number.**

He selected, yes.

**Are you sure you want to block this number?**

He selected, yes.

**Number blocked. This person won't be able to call or send you messages. If you want to remove the block...**

He closed the message, feeling drained of all energy, burned-out like never before.

Nicky sighed, incapable of even thinking, of comprehending what he had just done. His eyes burned, his eyelids were heavy. He put the phone face down on the low table, turned on his side, he closed his eyes. He was asleep in seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it so far! The next update will be in a couple of weeks, as usual.


	5. Nobody abuses us more than we abuse ourselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again!  
> Here's the fifth chapter of the story. I would've loved to post it earlier this week, but I had to re-write a big part of it because I was completely unsatisfied with what I had already prepared. I firmly believe that, if a writer doesn't like its own story, then nobody else will; therefore, since what I had written felt half-assed at best and this story deserved better, I took the needed time to fix it.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter:  
> \- language  
> \- mentions of violence  
> \- panic attack  
> \- non-descriptive injuries.

Joe woke up in the early hours of the afternoon, still feeling tired despite the hours of sleep. His back was killing him, since the sofa wasn't nearly as comfortable as he'd led Nicky to believe, so he got up with a groan and a wince, thoughts still sluggish. His brain was actually starting to properly work only when Nicky emerged from his room almost half an hour later, clad in the same clothes as yesterday. He looked wrecked, and Joe hid his grimace behind the rim of the cup, hoping Nicky didn't notice it.. meanwhile, he turned and leaning against the counter he replenished another mug.

“Hi.”

“Good morning. Did you seep well?”

Nicky nodded, eyes lowered, both hands clutching the ceramic. It had small gnomes with red pointy hats on it. “Yes. Thank you. Did you?”

“Yeah, better than expected actually!” Joe flashed one of his smiles, the big ones that he knew could blind everyone, and was careful not to mention the knots he could feel in the back of his neck.

Nicky studied him carefully, almost assessing him. “Are you sure? You look... stiff?”

Joe waved him off with nonchalance. “Nah, I'm only still sleepy. Don't worry. I told you, my sofa's perfectly fine.”

Nicky looked like he wanted to argue, but instead refrained himself, and Joe was relieved. He didn't want to lie to Nicky, not even about such small things. The proof of his elusiveness and its results was right there, in the shape if darkening swollen bruises all over Nicky.

They drank in silence. Joe was weary after the previous night's conversation, and Nicky's own uneasiness was clear. Joe wondered what he could do to make him relax, but the more he thought about it, the more his mind came up empty. He was completely out of his depth here, and painfully aware that he needed to consult someone of the subject. How did one act in front of a person as clearly traumatized as Nicky was? How could he help? What kind of behavior was to be avoided?

Joe was an engineer, not a psychologist. He'd never even remotely approached the subject of trauma and abuse, had never read books about it. His very limited knowledge came from some movies where the protagonists either seemed to know perfectly well how to handle the situation by some miraculous arrangement, or fumbled and fucked up so badly that he himself cringed and felt second-hand embarrassment for them. Unconsciously, he found himself scratching his beard, and saw Nicky glaning at him from the corner of his eyes.

 _Perfect. He probably thinks I'm a weirdo_.

Internally sighing, he decided that, later that day, as soon as he was alone, he would surf the web and find some specialized websites, maybe even a forum, to read the real experiences of other people in his situation; he was sorely aware that there were an awful lot of them. Domestic abuse was a plague – so far, Joe had been enough to never have to witness or deal with it first-hand.

“Can I prepare you some breakfast – or, lunch, I guess?” Nicky's voice pulled Joe out of his musings.

He turned around to face the Italian, who was staring out of the window. The dark rings beneath his eyes looked like bruises themselves in the gray light of that rainy day.

“I- No, thanks. I mean, I'll prepare something for us both, but you need to rest.”

“I'm fine. I'm not actually hungry, I think I'll skip lunch. But I can make you some eggs, or fresh pancakes if you want,” Nicky replied with a shrug, as if cooking for someone else while being a guest as well as bruised all over while contemporaneously skipping that same meals was absolutely normal.

 _Maybe for him it is_ , he thought with a shiver.

“You could really use eating a light lunch,” he replied instead, trying to be as tactful as possible.

Nicky shook his head vehemently. “I know I won't keep it doewn, Joe. But, please, let me cook something for you. What do you fancy?”

Joe took a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes. He already knew this wouldn't be easy, but it needed to be said. “Nicky, you don't need to prepare my meals. I'm capable of doing so myself, but thank you,” Joe said, gently and softly but firmly.

He needed this point to come across clearly. Nicky wasn't here to be his servant; he was here to recover, to get better, and Joe would help him in any way possible. He didn't know _how_ , yet, but he knew how important it was that he began to undo all the damage created by his boyfriend, starting from the emotional one, as soon as possible.

Nicky frowned minutely at that, and Joe sighed. Allah, yesterday had been tiring, and today was promising to be dreadful. Neither of them needed it.

“Nicky, you know that you're my guest, right?” Joe tried. “You don't have to cook, or clean up, or do anything other than relax and take care of yourself, really.”

At that, Nicky shifted, restless and clearly uncomfortable.

“I feel as if I'm imposing,” Nicky muttered.

Joe shook his head. How many times would it take before Nicky actually started to believe him?

“You're not. I'm happy to have you here, and you should do as if this were your own home.”

“I cook, at...” he replied, hesitating, “... home.”

Joe just stared at him. “Well, you don't have to, here.”

Apparently that wasn't the right answer, for Nicky's hands began to shake. He was distressed, Joe realized. Scared, probably, at the perspective of not having anything to do, of having no way to please him. _As if he needs to please me_ , Joe thought bitterly. Nicky wasn't a dog who needed to hop on his hind legs in order to make its owner laugh and give them a treat. He frowned. He didn't like such metaphor, yet it was incredibly appropriate. Fitting. Indeed it seemed that the lack of tricks to perform was making Nicky spiral into a full-blown anxiety attack.

Joe reached out and carefully pried the mug from Nicky's shaking hands before they could drop it. Nicky's skin was clammy, and he's paled to an almost scary shade of white. Making sure to project his every move clearly, Joe took hold of Nicky's uninjured forearm and of his side, and gently guided him to the sofa. He had Nicky sat down by the time his breathing became elaborated, short gasps of air leaving his mouth at uneven intervals.

Joe crouched down in front of the sofa, between Nicky's legs. There was nothing sexual in the position. Joe remianed still, holding Nicky's hands in his own, drawing circles with his thumb over his unblemished knuckles.

 _He never tried to protect himself_ , Joe realized with a start. _He never hit back_.

Joe felt tears threatening to spill from his eyes, and blinked rapidly. Now was no the time to break down. He had to be strong, for Nicky, even if he was getting increasingly worried.

“It's alright,” he whispered, squeezing his fingers gently. “Nicky' it's alright. Everything's fine.”

Nicky's eyes darted all around the room, jumping from one corner to the other, never settling down. Joe wondered if he was searching for potential threats, or if he was trying to read too much into that gesture.

“Nicky, darling, can you hear my voice?” Joe asked him, feeling growing fear in his belly. “Can you copy my breathing?

He needed to speak with someone who knew more than him soon, he thought; he couldn't wait any longer. The risk of triggering such attacks was too high, as the day was already proving. Fuck! He'd been awae for two hours and this was already happening. Fuck. Fuck!

“Nicky, please, it's really fine,” he repeated again. He could hear an edge of desperation in his own voice.

Nicky wasn't calming down, and Joe was starting to panic. Maybe he should call an ambulance, before Nicky passed out. He didn't want Nicky to repeat yesterday's examination at the hospital, but what else could he do?

His knees were starting to hurt, his back was stiff with pain, and Nicky was still shaking and struggling to breathe. A tear dropped on its own volition, and Joe's voice broke.

“I promise you, Nicky, you're fine, you'll be alright, everything is alright. _I promise_ ,” he said, voice trembling.

And, almost like magic, that did it. Nicky's eyes seemed to focus all of a sudden. They cleared, they regained their usual intensity and stopped jumping all round the place. Instead he looked down at Joe, right into his own eyes. Joe was worried that the wetness in them would upset Nicky once more, and at the same time he couldn't care less, because _Nicky'd calmed down!_ Joe kept stroking his thumb on Nicky's knuckles, and slowly, so slowly, his friend's breathing began to even out, to re-assume a normal path.

Joe slumped forward with a sigh of relief, feeling drained of all energy. His body felt liquid as the tension left it, as if his bones had vanished, and his head slouched forward, resting on Nicky's tights on its own accord, while their hands still held each other. Belatedly, Joe realizes he was sobbing, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving space for fright to settle in completely.

Nicky'd just had a panic attack because Joe had been an idiot, because he didn't know what he was doing. He'd proposed to host Nicky to help him recover, the impulse being born not only from friendly concern but most prominently on his secret love for him, but it seemed that he was making everything worse. Maybe it would be better to call Andy, to ask her to shelter the Italian instead, she would know what to do, maybe-

Nicky's fingers freed themselves from his and settled into his wild curls.

Joe closed his eyes, took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and let it out slowly, willing himself to calm down. He repeated the act three more times, and felt a much welcomed composure envelope him in its warm hug. He startled when he felt those fingers move, stroking his hair carefully, almost afraid, and realized that Nicky was now soothing him just as Joe had done not long ago.

 _What a pair they made_ , Joe thought. _And what a magnificent soul he is._

The fact that Nicky managed to find the force to take care of someone else when he was so clearly in pain, when moments before he'd been struggling to breathe and stay conscious, made Joe's heart thump in his chest like a hammer.

Finally he found the force to raise his head from Nicky's legs, quickly composing himself and staring up at the Italian, who was looking down at him, silent, serious, yet calm. His face was open and trusting.

“Thank you,” Nicky's voice sounded hoarse, yet much more centered than it had ever since Joe had found him in the cab.

“No, thank _you_ ,” Joe replied.

The fingers in his hair stilled, untangled themselves from the curls, and Joe mourned their lost, then immediately rejoiced when they found his hands once more and rested on top of them.

“I never meant to upset you.”

“You didn't,” Nicky was quick to reply. “And, uh, neither did I. I'm sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. We're both tired, and tense. But I mean what I said, everything will be alright.”

With a grunt, he levered himself and sat on the couch, right beside Nicky, their sides pressed together from knee to shoulder. It felt intimate, and safe, and right.

“I know you do. I trust you, Joe,” Nicky whispered, voice so low that Joe had to strain his ears to hear him. His heart raced in his chest. Was that why Nicky had calmed down, he wondered. Was it because Joe had promised?

_Does he trust me so much?_

The mere thought made him feel honored, humbled, and scared shitless. Vertigo threatened to swallow him, and he gulped.

“And, uh, I'm sorry about yesterday night,” Nicky added, looking at his lap. “I am really stupid sometimes.”

At that, Joe looked at him sharply, then gently but firmly grasped his chin and had Nicky face him. Those amazing eyes widened and stared at him.

“Nicky, you may be a lot of things, stupid is not one of them. Please don't talk like that about yourself.” Then, at Nicky opening his mouth to protest, he shook his head. “No. If you don't want to do it for yourself, then do it for me. Please? I don't like hearing you speak of yourself in such a manner.”

At that, Nicky snapped shut his mouth. Joe suspected that it was a conditioned reaction to his request, and for a moment he wondered if he'd not slipped in asking something like that, but for now, he decided not to push the matter more than necessary. He had to be clever, and take all the small victories he could. Having Nicky successfully stop degrading himself like that didn't necessarily mean that he would stop _thinking_ like that, but it was still a small step forward. Right now, he couldn't ask for anything more.

“...Alright,” Nicky finally drawled.

“Good,” Joe nodded, and let go of the chin he'd been holding. He was happy when Nicky held his gaze instead of lowering his eyes.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nicky was confused. He hurt all over, he'd slept fitfully, and then he'd had a full-blown break-down in front of _Joe_ of all people. He'd never had an attack like that, before. Sure, more than once he'd found himself fighting to catch full deep breaths, and sometimes his hands trembled so much that he dropped things, and often his heart beat erratically and unsteadily, but he'd never just shut down like that. He'd never felt his mind grow foggy, his brain going in overdrive while everything around him seemed to slow down and go far away from him, his skin becoming numb and picky at the same time as if a thousand ants were walking all over it. It was dreadful and tiring at the same time.

At some point, he'd thought he would pass out, and he'd been unable to do anything about it. His body was working on its own, Nicky was unable to command it anymore. He tried to say so to Joe, to warn him, but something wasn't working, his vision was spinning and his thoughts felt sluggish. He could hear Joe talk, he could understand his words, but they seemed to come from very far, and they didn't make all that much sense.

But then, Joe had said that _he_ _promised_ , and Nicky had registered that. Somehow, those words had made it through the thick fog of his mind, and he'd deciphered and understood them. Not only that, but he'd actually felt safe, right then and there. _I promise_. Secure. Nicky was safe. He was going to be alright. Because Joe had promised, and Joe's word was worth more than anything.

 _Joe was always worth more than anything, but I never had the courage to admit it before_.

It was as if a switch had been turned on. Nicky trusted Joe. He trusted Joe so much, that when he said that everything would be alright, that he promised, Nicky managed to catch a full deep breath, then a second one, and after that breathing became easier, normal, and he become more grounded.

Finally, Nicky found himself in the present, once more capable of really feeling his body and of commanding his mind. He was aware of being on Joe's sofa, of Joe kneeling in front of him, slumped forward boneless, crushing his legs and resting his head on his tights. And Joe was sobbing. He wasn't crying, but it was a near thing. Nicky's heart began beating furiously.

 _Did I do that?,_ he thought in horror.

He felt sick at the idea of being the cause of such distress. Joe didn't deserve it, Nicky wasn't worth all that trouble that he was causing, but right now, he had to focus on Joe. Joe needed him. If nothing else, he had to make sure that he would be okay.

So, slowly, he pried his hand from Joe's – he'd been unaware of Joe holding them in the first place, and wasn't it curious, funny, and alarming all at the same time? – and buried them into his hair. His beautiful, rich, brown curls that Nicky loved so much, that he'd secretly wished to touch for a long time.

And that did the trick evidently, just like Joe's promise before had.

_Oh._

  
  


* * *

  
  


The afternoon quickly morphed into evening, and Nicky spent most of it laying down on his bed, in the safety of Joe's room, where the pillow smelled like him and the bed rested against the wall, making Nicky feel safe with his back pressed against it. He left the door slightly ajar, but Joe still knocked before entering to retrieve something from his wardrobe at some point. The morning's breakdown had left Nicky tired and wary.

Joe himself had gone out only briefly to buy some food for them both and stock the fridge, which was severely empty. Nicky rejoyced at the thought that now he had something to work with to prepare a nice dinner for Joe, before he remembered Joe's words from earlier and he banished the idea, even if with some difficulty. Joe also came back with some new socks and underwear for Nicky, because he was a thoughtful and caring person, who somehow managed to forgive Nicky for all the trouble he was causing, even if he kept making mistakes, just like he did once more right then.

When Joe came back from the store and began taking items and packages out of the bags, Nicky got up to help him.

“What are you doing?” Joe asked, frowning.

Nicky looked at him puzzled. “Helping you put away all this stuff? Also, I should pay for half of it, at least.”

“Nicky, please,” Joe sighed tiredly, and Nicky's shudders hunched. “Go sit down on the sofa and don't worry about that.”

Joe sounded tired, and upset. Nicky hoped that he'd not added insult to injury with his proposition, and silently but unhappily put down he bag and indieed went to sit down.

Joe still stared at him from the kitchen. “You have to rest,” he reminded him once again, and it wasn't like Nicky could forget, obviously, because his body hurt and his soul was bleeding and Joe kept reminding him that he was expected to basically do nothing, but _that_ left him feeling useless, like an inept, and with too much time for his mind to wonder. Nicky didn't want it to. But the look in Joe's eyes was so sad that Nicky could keep eye contact only for a little while before he had to look down at his hands, folded in his lap. He felt frustrated, his skin almost itching, but he did as he was told. He'd ruined the day enough as it was.

Joe was still rummaging in the small kitchen, and Nicky was lost in his thoughts staring at the wall in front of him, the TV switched on airing a quiz show but muted, when the doorbell rang. Nicky jumped a feet in the air, heart hammering in his chest. He could feel fear coiling in his gut, his intestines becoming liquid. Instinctively, his eyes searched for Joe, who was standing still between the small table and the counter in the kitchenette.

“I told nobody where I am,” Nicky quickly said.

Joe looked at him, and nodded. The small sigh of relief that escaped him wasn't missed by Nicky, who felt a twinge of disappointment.

 _Doesn't he trust me?_ , he wondered. And then, _Did I ever give him reason to?_

“I'll go see who it is.”

Joe walked to the door, silently, and carefully peered through the small hole right when the bell rang for the second time. Then, he pulled back and turned toward Nicky, grinning so hard that his smile threatened to split his face. God, Nicky loved that smile. It could cheer up the rainiest of days. His eyes shone in excitement and, seeing them, Nicky couldn't help but tentatively smile back. Joe was infectious like that.

“Well, look who's decided to drop by!” Joe exclaimed.

He opened the door while Nicky, who'd gotten on his feet, let out a questioning sound, and on the other side revealed all of their friends holding takeout containers in their hands. Quynh was in front of the group, Nile and Booker right behind her, and Andy was at the back. She seemed to be looking at the stairs, but Nicky only caught a glimpse of her before he had his arms full of Quynh.

The small Asian woman could barely reach his collarbone in height, a breeze could knock her over, but the arms that hugged his middle were strong in their hold, careful not to hurt him but also ready not to let go for a while. Nicky stood there for a moment, not moving, then he blinked and slowly brought his uninjured arm up to pat Quynh's back.

“Don't scare me like that ever again,” she whispered in the fabric of his hoodie, so low that Nicky barely managed to hear her. Nicky rested his chin against her temple. “And don't you dare mention that I'm crying, 'cause I'm not.”

Nicky gently kissed her head, and closed his eyes. If they were a bit misty, nobody had to know. “Deal.”

They hugged for a while, then in the background, Nile cleared her throat.

“So, yeah, we're here too and we brought food!” she exclaimed with forced cheerfulness, studiously blinking her eyes fast. Nicky was flabbergasted, seeing that they all cared so much for him that they not only came to visit, not only brought him food, but they also felt so emotional. And Nile, most of all young and beautiful and new to their group.

Quynh disentangled herself from Nicky and Nile was there immediately, smiling up at him. She got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek; he cupped her own gently, smothering away a tear, and pretended not to see her furrowed eyebrow as she studied his face and her grimace at his purple neck. Her expression was mirrored by Booker's. He knew how he looked, so their reaction wasn't really surprising. Still, he internally winced.

“I'm so glad you're okay.”

“Thank you, Nile,” he told her, but as he made to take the food from her, she gently swatted his hand away and went to put it in the kitchen.

“I put the food away, you stay there,” she chided him.

“Hi Nicky,” Booker greeted him, awkwardly. He had difficulty meeting his eyes, which made the Italian feel very self conscious. Booker wasn't a man easily impressed, nor did he usually wear his emotions on his sleeve. “How are you doing?”

Nicky shrugged. He didn't really know. Spent, he thought, could be the most apt definition.

“Fine,” he settled on instead.

Quynh snorted, but she didn't say anything as Andy elbowed her, then came to hug him herself, a hand on the nape of his neck. He inhaled deeply as she held him. She looked into his eyes and Nicky suppressed the urge to squirm under her deep, wise gaze. Then she let him go. “You look better than you did yesterday,” she observed.

“Well, shit,” muttered Nile, and Quynh snorted humorlessly.

Nicky just shrugged once more, feeling self-conscious and awkward.

“Well, where are my hugs? My kisses? I feel neglected here, guys!” Joe complained, and Booker laughed; like that, the tension was thankfully broken.

“Oh, that wouldn't do!” Nile laughed, and ran to kiss his cheek too.

“How could we _ever_ forget you?” Quynh asked, sarcastically, but still went to hug him. “You're so... inconspicuous.”

Nile patted him on his arm at Joe's feigned an affronted face, then he turned and stared at his boss, one eyebrow raised.

Andy rolled her eyes. “I'm not gonna hug you,” she declared.

Joe mimed crying. “You're a heartless woman, Andy. Booker, where's my hug? Come on, man, come here!”

“I didn't hug Nicky!” Booker was quick to say, sidestepping on the other side of the couch for good measure. He was blushing furiously.

They all laughed and Joe flipped him off.

“So, what did you bring?” Joe finally asked, urging them all to give him their coats and get comfortable.

Quynh took hold of Nicky's arm and had him walk back to the sofa. “You, sit down. And we bought Thai, I hope that's good?”

“That's great, yes,” Nicky reassured her, sitting as she'd told him. Truth be told, he was feeling slightly lightheaded. It had been a while since he'd last seen all of them outside of the office, and longer still since he'd been at the center of the attention like that. He was unused to all these laughs, this easy camaraderie. “You didn't have to.”

“Ah, nonsense,” she waved him off.

Nile helped Joe bring clean plates from the small kitchenette, Booker grabbed a few bottles from the fridge. Andy carried the only two chairs of the house to the living room, and they all sat down. Joe managed to squeeze himself on the couch too, precariously balanced. The food was distributed on the plates, which were then passed around; Quynh herself ate directly out of the cartoons. They were silent for a while, and Nicky had the distinctive impression that it was because none of them knew what to say. He hated being the cause of such stilted awkwardness.

“So, uh,” he said, clearing his throat and pushing the food around in his plate. “How's work going?”

There, here it was, a safe subject to talk about. He congratulated himself.

“It's good, although I had to take over your workload with the help of Nile,” Andy said, and winked at him, glancing at the youngest of the group.

“Yeah, which is, like, awesome. You take the specifications and manage to prepare a whole offer from it, you can see the project forming and becoming real under your eyes, so cool! But man, and all those Clients writing and calling you with their demands and modifications, it's unbelievable. You phone keeps ringing _all the time_! And the documents they send you, they're contradictory at best and completely unintelligible most times. I mean, documents in Chinese translated approximately in English with the help of Google translator? Come on! Give me a break! Those societies are worth hundreds of millions of dollars, they can _totally_ afford to pay the services of a specialized agency to take care of it!”

Booker snorted inelegantly and Joe outright laughed. They had always thought Nicky to be a little nuts in the best way possible, with a job like that. To hear Nile say essentially the same things they thought seemed to be hilarious enough for the two men. Nicky gave them the stink eye, broodingly. Andy looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, as if to say, _see?_ There was an amused glint in her eyes that matched Quynh's.

Nile, sweet and young as she was, had very strong opinions about most subject, and it looked like a few days seeing first hand what Nicky's job entailed had given her enough material to form thoughts about it, too. The thing that made Nicky's mouth quirk up in silent laughter was that she was absolutely, completely right. His job _was_ crazy, his Clients _were_ often pretentious and pompous, entitled by their money and the name of their companies, yet Nicky loved it all the same.

_It is the reason why everything has gone to hell with Steven. No, that's not right. It isn't the only reason, just the one which had finally made him leave. Stop. Stop, he doesn't want to think about it now._

Nile, undeterred by the others and oblivious to Nicky's inner turmoil, went on. “It's total chaos, man. I mean I love what you do, it's interesting, really, but it would drive me completely nuts in less than a month, I swear!”

“Yes. We can all see that,” Quynh deadpanned, but Nile ignored her completely.

“What I don't understand is, how you manage to do it _on your own_.”

Nicky looked at her, puzzled. “Why?”

“Dude, you're basically working for two! Like, how do you do it? And all the Clients calling you, each of them wants to talk about their own project, how do you differentiate them, how do you not get confused, how do you survive the _stress_?”

Nicky chuckled at the obvious despair. “You get used to it, and it's not really that difficult. _After_ you get used to it, that's it.”

Nile grunted, and Booker patted her shoulder consolingly.

“Well, I'll be happy when you get back, let me tell you.”

Andy laughed, and Nicky smiled. “Yeah, me too. I think I'll come back next Monday?”

“No!”

“Absolutely not!”

“You're kidding, right?”

“What the hell Nicky?!”

Nicky blinked. Out of all the reactions he'd been expecting, that wasn't one f them. Shouldn't they be happy to have him back? Not to have to do his job on top of theirs anymore?

“Why not?”

“Why not?! Oh for the love of God!” Booker muttered.

“Nicky, I don't mean to be insensitive, but have you _seen_ yourself?” Quynh asked him, and Nicky tensed.

“These are only bruises. They'll fade.”

“Yeah, sure, but your ribs and your hand won't be alright in five days,” Andy interjected.

Nicky carefully put his plate down on his knees, and fought the instinct to raise his shoulders up to his ears and to pull up the hoodie.

“It won't be that much different from staying here all day, Andy. I'll sit down and work. It's not like I have to do weights,” he quietly replied.

Andy didn't look that much convinced, and nobody else tried to interject, although Joe looked like he wanted to. Quynh's hand around his bicep seemed to be stopping him.

“At least I'll have something to focus on. That'd be nice.”

She studied him, pensive, then made a noncommittal noise and sighed. She looked tired, Nicky noticed. There were lines he didn't remember around her eyes. How long had it been since he'd last looked at her for real? And was he the reason behind all or some of those lines? He hoped not. He also wondered how much doing his job was taking its toll on her, already busy with her own stuff.

“I don't know about it,” she finally said. “When do you take the wrist support off? I recall the prognosis being more than five days.”

“In a couple of weeks,” interjected Joe.

“Ten days, if I'm lucky” Nicky added hastily. The thought of being useless for his friends and co-wokers, a burden for them as well as for Joe, made him nauseous. “Andy, please; I'll go stir crazy in that much time. I am literally begging you.”

Andy sighed, passing a hand on his eyes. Maybe he was convincing her. Maybe-

“Besides it's not like it's the first time-” he snapped his mouth shut, aware of how close he'd come to say out loud what he'd been thinking: that it was hardly the first time he'd come to work bruised and beaten up. The only difference was the state of his face.

Still, his words were enough to put them all on edge.

Nile slowly lowered her fork, Quynh tensed like a bow, and Andy stared at him in horror. Joe jumped to his feet, swore loudly, and all but stomped to the small kitchen, putting his plate in the sink with unneeded force and not turning around to face them again. He would've closed the door behind himself, had there been one at all to shut. The look on Booker's face was undecipherable.

Nicky blushed. He could feel his face burning up. He was a mess. He'd made messes all day, and this was the cherry on top of the whole cake.

 _Fuck_.

He made to get up, to follow Joe because he needed to explain, he needed to rectify, he needed to make sure he'd not fucked up beyond repair, because he was a perfect idiot, but Booker was right in his face all of a sudden and Nicky couldn't help but flinch back hard.

He jumped back against the cushions of the sofa, cradling his hurt arm around his chest, and stared at the French looming over him. He knew that Booker would never do anything to hurt him, that he was his friend, but Steven had been his boyfriend and _see where it had gotten him_.

The flash of hurt on Booker's face at his reaction was painful like the actual blow that, naturally, never came.

“What, you fell on the stairs more than once, then?” Booker asked, aggressively. His words were little more than a growl leaving his lips.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nicky saw Nile and Andy get up, ready to intervene.

“Really, Booker? _Now_?” Quynh's hiss was steely as she shifted on the couch beside Nicky, a comforting presence next to him. She put a hand on his one, and he belatedly noticed that he'd begun shaking.

“Yes, _now_. Because it's bullshit and we all know it.”

He wondered where Joe was. Would he intervene if Booker hit him? Was he too angry? He had every right to be, but Joe and anger didn't seem to fit well together.

“Stop,” Nicky asked. His voice seemed to come from far away, but it was unmistakably his, even if it sounded cracked and empty.

“Or what? Are you scared to admit what we all know? Fuck it, Nicky! Say it out loud. There's no shame in what happened to you. It's him, that asshole of your ex, that poor excuse of a piece of crap, who should be ashamed to look at himself in the mirror.”

“I fell.”

Booker passed a hand through his hair, all the fight ostensibly drained from him. He sighed, shook his head in obvious disappointment, and tiredly he turned around, walking toward the front door.

“No, you didn't. You can repeat that crap over and over but the only person you'll manage to mislead will be yourself,” he said before leaving. “And you're way too clever, and we all love you way too much, to stay here and allow you to do that, and to listen to your bullshit and pretend as if it's not exactly what it smells like.”

The living room fell into a very tense, extremely discomfited silence. The entrance door clicked close.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Andy joined him in the kitchen, where Joe was gripping the edge of the sink so hard he risked breaking it. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and half formed threats toward a person that wasn't even here, someone that, for their own sake, Joe hoped to never met. He didn't know what type of reaction he might have to answer for, as it were.

Nicky had quietly apologized and left for his room not long after Booker had stormed out. The outburst had been strong and yet, Joe thought, needed: a good friend was someone who could be hard when need arose. If he was honest, Booker had anticipated Joe's own intervention only by mere seconds.

Now Nile and Quynh were in the other room cleaning up; Andy had apparently drawn the short stick and was in charge of doing the talking.

“Are you alright?”

Joe laughed, and it came out wet. “I'm not the one who apparently has a habit of showing up for work beaten into a pulp under their clothes.”

“No, but you're the one who's living with the person who's got that habit, who refuses to admit it, and who you've been in love with for months,” she replied, direct and blunt as she could be occasionally. Sometimes, Joe wondered how much that was Quynh rubbing off on her.

“And I'm doing a shit job at it. I upset him, you saw it.”

“You had a normal reaction to his words and their implications. Nile's hands can't stop shaking. Nor mine, for the matter.”

“I don't know how to help him, Andy. He had a panic attack this morning because of _me_.” She pulled him into a hug. “I thought he was going to pass out.”

“Joe, listen to me. You're doing the best you can. You're being supportive, you're giving him a safe place to live until he decides what to do, and you're doing it without basically any kind of training. You're not a trauma specialist, none of us are, yet you're still trying.” She squeezed him. “I think that matters to Nicky more than we could ever understand.”

Joe nodded against her shoulder. He felt tired and scared, like a child in need of the guidance of their mother.

“We're here, for both of you. I promise that you'll not be alone.”

“Thank you, Boss.”

“Anytime.”

She smiled, then turned around and glanced at the living room, where Quynh and Nile were obviously giving them space, and at Nicky's closed door. It was so easy, Joe reflected, to think of it as Nicky's door, when just two days ago it was the door to Joe's room. He didn't mind having given it up. He wouldn't mind giving it up forever, if it meant Nicky would never show up at work with hidden bruises.

“Listen Joe, there's something important I need to tell you.” Andy's tone had him on edge. Whatever this was about, he dreaded what was to come. “Nicky's direct phone has been ringing every few minutes for two days straight. Merrick has called the telephone exchange three times, then Quynh told him to fuck off and blocked his number.”

Joe felt cold, icy fingers curl in his guts. “Did he- did he say something?”

“Quynh says he sounded insane. He asked about Nicky, demanded to speak to him, said he was worried that something might have happened to him. We told him that Nicky hasn't been at the office in a while, that he left a week ago, and didn't offer any information.”

Joe let out a long, trembling sigh.

“ _Fuck_!”

Andy made a sympathetic noise. “But that's not all. Quynh swears she saw him tonight in a black car, looking for Nicky to walk out. As soon as Quynh spotted him, she told me and Booker, and he became _furious_ , Joe. We had to keep him from going banging on the hood of the car, and we stopped him because I don't need to be another person short at the office to be honest, I couldn't let him break his hand. Otherwise I would've gladly joined him. Still, the fucker probably understood that we spotted him, because he sped off.”

Joe passed a trembling hand on his face. His heart was beating so had that it was a miracle his ribs were still intact. “What can we do?”

“Nothing. He was on the street, that's public property. Nicky didn't file a complaint, so we can't force him to stay away. And maybe, since he didn't see him, he actually believes that Nicky doesn't work there anymore.” Andy was tense next to him. “But Nicky's right, he'll have to come back eventually. The more he stays away, the better; if the fucker comes back and doesn't see him again, the lie we told will become more credible. Still, actually focusing on something that's not his trauma could help Nicky, I can't keep him away forever.”

“No, no, you're right, but- not so soon, Andy, please don't let him come back before he gets at least a bit better. He'd a mess right now.” Joe passed a nervous hand on his mouth.

“And you're not?” she asked, not unkindly.

Joe snorted. “We're not talking about me. I'm not the one in danger.”

Andy sighed. “Fair enough.”

“Maybe I should come back tomorrow, then,” Joe added, almost on a whim.

“Mhh?”

“I don't know how much Nicky told him, but I'm sure he knows that Nicky's got exactly 5 coworkers, and tonight there were only four.”

“You think he might suspect that you're housing him,” Andy was quick to catch up.

“Yes. Also, he already saw us together once,” he reminded her. “If I come back and he sees all of us for a few days, we might actually con him for real.”

Andy looked pensive, pondering their options. As for Joe, he didn't know where the idea and the cold logic came from, maybe it was one too many books by Michael Connelly, still he had surprised himself with his cold and efficient reasoning. He'd never been the cunning type, and here he was, feeling like the protagonist of a movie.

He shook his head, forced himself to focus. He thought that maybe, with some luck, they might really pull the act off.

“You might be right,” Andy conceded. “Come back tomorrow, then. I don't care what time you come in, if you need to take a few hours to arrange things here it's fine by me.”

“Thank you, Boss.”

“Anytime.” Andy nodded at him, smiled, then turned around and marched back into the living room. “Quynh, let's go home. Nile, come on, we'll give you a lift to your place.”

Joe accompanied them to the door, hugged Nile and Quynh both, then let them go. He was tired, but not as weary and _thin_ as he had felt before. Andy's encouragements had worked like a soothing balm, helping him find his resolve again. He squared his shoulders, inhaled deeply, held it, and let the air out slowly. He could feel himself finding his balance.

Andy's news were alarming, certainly, but also expected. They all knew it wouldn't be that easy to get rid of the parasite who had made Nicky's life a nightmare for so long, and at least now they had a plan of action, even an half-formed one as it was. But Joe had faith that they could do it, they could make it work, and things would get back to normal again. Maybe not as soon as he would've liked, but someday...

He prayed Allah to give him strength and went to gently knock on the bedroom door. He had the news of his return to work to break to Nicky and, after that, a text message to send to Booker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter will be up in a couple of weeks as usual.


	6. Stand up for the innocent or go down with the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, here we are with the sixth chapter. This one was difficult to write, but so, so satifsying! I hope that you'll like it as much as I do, and I can't wait to hear your opinions about it.
> 
> The chapter starts slow, so the first couple of scenes are not that exciting, but they're necessary.
> 
> The only trigger warnings I can think of are some slurs and a scene of minor violence which is non descriptive.
> 
> More ramblings in the ending notes.  
> For now, enjoy!

Nicky watched Joe close the door behind himself and a sense of dismay enveloped him.

He was alone.

He had about nine hours to spend on his own in an apartment where he was only a guest, and the prospect made anxiety curl its icy fingers around his intestines.

_Pathetic. Are you already co-dependent?_

He sighed. There it was, one of the many reasons Steven had to be frustrated by his pitiable self. He'd been in Joe's company for, what, a couple of days? And in most of that time he'd managed to cause troubles. Yet, still, here he was, fretting at the idea of being alone for a few hours. When had he become such a mess? He'd grown up as an independent young man, his _nonna_ had always encouraged him in that regard. Where was that old Nicky? The one who'd impressed Andy enough to be offered a position in her company which, albeit very little, was internationally renowned, because of the _exceedingly competent attitude and great first impression_ he'd made?

He shook his head and put his empty cup of coffee down, feeling defeated. This was why he loathed the silence and loneliness of an empty apartment: because his thoughts were eager to wander and he didn't always like the path he found them walking down on.

Nicky went to the bathroom, washed, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, which was getting longish, but his barber was near Steven's apartment and Steven had actually been the one to recommend his shop, so he didn't want to go there again. He should find a new one, he reasoned as he shaved, or he could keep his hair as they were, as he used to have them in his early twenties. He studied his face in the mirror and, past the bruising, he could imagine himself capable of pulling out that look once more.

_Are you really thinking about your hair?_

His eyes widened as the thought crossed his mind. There it was, the reason why having too much free time wouldn't do him any good.

He walked out of the bathroom and back to the kitchen, where, without thinking, he grabbed the cups in the sink and wet the yellow sponge sitting there with some detergent, and began cleaning them. If he had so much time to occupy, he reasoned, why not do something useful for once? Maybe he could _finally_ prove that he could be good for something, at least. And while Joe had told him just yesterday that he didn't have to cook or clean, it wasn't like Nicky had much else to do. Beside, it was his choice as Joe had been careful to hatily add to his remarks, so Joe wouldn't be as upset as he'd been yesterday. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

_Fuck me._

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nile knocked on the open frame of the door of Joe's office while Booker was in the conference room with a client.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Joe said with a smile. “What's up?”

“I wanted to ask how's Nicky doing after, well, the mess that was yesterday evening.”

“Ah.” Joe made a knowing sound. “You didn't feel like asking in front of Book.”

Nile made a face. “Andy recommended not to. She says he needs some time to cool off.”

“She's right, you know?”

Joe had talked to Booker yesterday night, closed in his bathroom to have some privacy, and again this morning. His friend was still angry at Nicky, but Joe could see right past his facade and straight to the deep pool of worry in which his friend was drowning. His reaction to Nicky's words had been strong, yes, but Joe couldn't blame him. He knew that Booker regretted his explosive temper making itself known at the worst time possible, and he also knew that Nile's (and Quynh's, and Andy's) annoyance with him was born only from being worried about Nicky, themselves. Surely Booker could've avoided yelling at Nicky, but his intentions had been good – and he'd actually apologized to Joe for the scene he'd caused, conscious of it. For Joe, it was enough. As for the relationship between the French and the Italian, they would have to mend it themselves.

“He shouldn't have pressured him like that.”

“And Nicky shouldn't be hiding behind empty lies; Booker's right about that. It's far beneath him.” Nile looked at him, stunned. Joe sighed. “No, I'm not going to say that to him, don't worry. I know that you, Andy and Quynh would kill me and bury me where nobody could find my body, possibly with Booker's corpse,” he joked weakly, “but still the fact remains, that Booker wasn't completely wrong.”

“I know. He was out of line, though.”

“That, he was.” Joe had to nod in agreement. “Don't worry, Nile. Everything is going to be fine in the end. Very soon we will be once again working here, all together, and this will just be a bad memory. Have faith.”

“I wish it could be so easy...”

“Yeah, me too. But you'll see!” Joe winked at her, somehow managing to sound more convinced and self-assured than he was actually feeling, for the sake of his youngest colleague who, he had to remind himself from time to time, was still a part-time student. “It's not the first time that our resident Italian and French argue about something, you know? Nicky once tried to explain to me something about a long-standing rivalry between their two countries that mostly expresses itself every time their national football teams play against each other. They'll get over it very soon.”

Nile didn't look convinced, but she nodded nonetheless.

“Wait. Do Italy and French have _national football teams_? I didn't know!”

“Football as in soccer.”

“Uh.” She pulled a face.

Joe chuckled. “Sorry, Nile.”

She shook her head. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you mind asking Nicky if he feels like reading a request for quotation that was sent yesterday and telling me his opinions about it? There are a couple of points I can't really decipher and I just spent the whole afternoon working on them uselessly,” she trailed off, clearly frustrated. “Also, Andy's too busy right now and I don't want to add any more pressure on her. And Nicky _did_ look quite desperate for something to do, yesterday.”

Joe smiled, surprised. Nicky working from home was actually a pretty nice idea, a good way for him to rest and to be busy at the same time. He'd seemed antsy, this morning. Maybe, this could help.

“Sure! I actually think that he'll be happy to do it. Having something to focus on will help him pass the time. Do you have a paper copy that I could borrow?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Nile went to retrieve something from her desk, and came back with a thick folder, which she gave to Joe. “I printed only the most important specifications, but I can forward him the complete file by email if he needs it.”

“I'll make sure to tell him that. Thank you, Nile.”

“No, thank _you_. And please tell Nicky not to feel obliged or pressured to do it! I completely understand if he has other things on his mind. And it's not urgent! He can take all the time he needs. _If_ he decides to do it, of course.”

“Nile, relax,” Joe laughed. “I will tell him all that, I promise, but I think we already know his answer.”

Nile grinned back. “Thanks! You're both life-savers.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The following few days passed quickly, and surprisingly fairly quietly. Joe got used to going back into the familiar routine that was his daily life. He got up early every morning, had a coffee with Nicky who always made a point to join him even if he looked tired and could have slept in, then went to the office. He worked his hours, had lunch and left with the others in the evening, always keeping a watchful eye out. He thought that he spotted Merrick's car twice, but then there was no sight of it anymore during the following days. He prayed that the plan had worked, that the deception had tricked him, and the man wouldn't be a problem anymore. Nicky, on his part, work-wise, had only been all too happy to read the documents Nile had sent the same night Joe bought them home, and was eager to give her his insights and a few tips if the couple of conversations he overheard in the office were anything to go by.

On the weekend, he had lunch with Nicky, called his family on Skype on Saturday afternoon and talked to his mother and sister while his father made only a brief appearance on the screen, watched a game in the early night, sketched a bit, and all around just relaxed. It was almost scary how easily he and Nicky seemed to fit together. They were comfortable around each other, even if Nicky was still skittish. They found their balance in sharing the limited space his house could offer. Joe actually felt _happy_ , dare he say. Serene, content. Every night, alone on his couch, he thought that he didn't want Nicky to leave.

On Sunday, they bundled up and had a walk in the park that was only a couple of blocks away, and which was empty due to the pouring rain. Neither of them minded it. Joe, actually, was relieved that there were so few people around: it would be easier to spot any potential threat, and nobody would hopefully notice Nicky's appearance and draw the wrong conclusions or make comments on it.

As for Nicky himself, his bruises, while still prominent, were starting to fade a bit, and he moved a bit more smoothly as the days went by. How he had gained them had not been a subject they had touched again; something told Joe that Nicky was still far from being willing to admit the truth out loud, and they didn't need a repeat of what had already happened with Booker. Joe knew that his friends had still to make amends about it, but had elected to avoid taking any side.

Nicky had taken to cleaning up the house almost maniacally daily, and every evening Joe came back to shining floors and dust-free shelves. All the surfaces were polished. His DVD cases had been dusted for the first time in years. The glass of the windows was fingerprints-free. Nicky, though, never touched anything inside the closets, probably out of respect, even if Joe had assured him that he could do whatever he wanted, he had no secrets to hide. His house was tidier than it had ever been, Joe contemplated more than once over the next few days.

Nicky also made a point of cooking every dinner from scratch, and each of them was delicious; every morning he went to the small grocery store at the corner and bought fresh ingredients, always making sure to follow Joe's dietary requirements. The meals were to die for, no kidding, but still, after the initial eagerness, came over Joe a sense of wariness. Was Nicky doing all that simply because he was boring, or out of a sense of obligation? He knew that he didn't have to repay his hospitality, right?

Nicky wasn't his maid, and didn't need to act like one.

Still, more than once, when Joe made sure to tell Nicky that he didn't _need_ to do all the housework, that they _could_ easily order something from the restaurant down the street and that it there would be _nothing wrong_ if the bathroom sink didn't actually _reflect_ Joe's face in the white porcelain when he went to wash up before dinner, a flash of panic overtook Nicky's face. The hurt in his beautiful pale eyes , the wild look of fear suddenly there, had Joe quickly reassure that he _could_ do whatever he felt up to, but not out of duty. Each time, Nicky nodded and looked relieved, the matter was been dropped, and they came back to being comfortable around one another once more, ignoring the elephant in the room.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was Tuesday night when Nicky came to sit on the sofa next to Joe. It had been ten days since the hospital. Since... the eating. Since his life had gown upside-down.

Joe smiled up at him from where he was half-sprawled under a blanket, his feet propped on the cushions and his sketchbook in his hands. Nicky swallowed.

They had found a sort of balance in the past days that made it incredibly easy to feel at home here and excruciatingly hard to remember that he would have to leave sooner or later. The subject of his injuries had not been brought up again, and the bruises were finally fading, turning to a yellowish color. Soon, they would be invisible, and because of that it seemed like it wasn't that difficult anymore for Joe to look at him. Which was great, because Nicky secretly acquiesced to himself that he loved Joe looking at him, and terrible, because when Joe focused his attention on him, Nicky's brain all but short-circuited. Just yesterday, he had walked right into the door frame and then bumped into the corner of the kitchen counter.

 _Great_.

But Joe just laughed at his clumsiness, and never once he called him out for it, nor raised his voice, nor berated him, nor told him he was a useless idiot. Nicky felt himself relax around him progressively more each day. Joe was an easy man to live with, Nicky thought, even if he still got the impression that something was slightly off, and that Joe was somehow restraining himself. Sometimes he caught glimpses of aborted smiles and gestures, the impression of words he wished to speak but instead withheld. More than once he thought of asking, but each time he refrained from actually doing it. He didn't know if it would be welcomed, and he didn't want to overstep.

Ever since Joe had gone back to work, Nicky had fallen into an effortless daily routine that had helped him find his feet again while it still allowed him to heal and gave him time enough to process what was happening during the long hours when he was alone in a house that wasn't his, but that still somehow grew to feel like _home_. The place was so different from his own tiny apartment, the one he had owned up until a few months ago, which had been old but nice, simply decorated and with books and trinkets on every available surface. It was also much unlike Steven's, whose place was big, airy, bright, elegantly furnished following the advice of some fashionable interior design and all around expensive, in a luxurious condominium. Joe's apartment was little, homey, clattered of souvenirs from Joe's travels, pictures of his family and old friends; sketchbooks were in every room, on every surface (Nicky had even seen one tucked in a corner in the bathroom cabinet, right next to the shaving cream, and why did Joe own a shaving cream in the first place he still couldn't figure) and DVDs overflowed the shelves near the TV. The man even had potted plants that actually looked healthy, for God's sake!

It was a joy to take care of a place like this. The balance Nicky had managed to find with his new routine was a healthy equilibrium, one he'd not had in a very long time. Thinking about his latest months with Steven, Nicky wondered how he'd managed to do it all, to match his job with his private life, to meet all his demands, and he felt astounded each time. Stunned, and still processing. And processing was something that he _had_ to do.

Leaving Steve hadn't been a carefully planned decision and Nicky wasn't an impulsive man by nature. The implications of his actions, their consequences, were becoming clear only now for him – and he suspected there was still a lot he had to understand. It was going to be a long journey. But he never, _ever_ thought of going back.

 _Never again_.

 _And still_...

Still, Nicky had to admit that his eagerness to help around the house was born initially from a twisted desire to please Joe and make sure he wouldn't have to object to Nicky's prolonged presence in his house, as well as out of a hard-learned habit. He had grown up used to helping around the house, and he'd always done it willfully, even as a teenager and even with Steven, initially; later on, it had become an obligation, and after that, a routine to strictly abide to, as well as a way to keep his temper in check and avoid raised words and fists. Now, though, it wasn't like that anymore.

When Joe had announced he would go back to work, Nicky'd felt sad, and alone, and helpless. But, mostly, unhelpful. With that desolated spirit, the following morning he'd dared tidying up the place, promising himself that if his actions displeased Joe once more, he would leave. The man didn't need a nuisance like Nicky around. But Joe hadn't been displeased, merely surprised. He'd actually thanked Nicky and said that he didn't need to do all the chores by himself, that he could of course, but that there was no obligation. It had been... odd-ish. Nicky hadn't known how to properly reply, and Joe had hastened to end the conversation and find other topics to talk about; specifically, he'd handed over a folder of documents from Nile, and hadn't that been a wonderful surprise?

Ever since then, things had improved a lot. Now, with a newfound equilibrium and perspective, Nicky dreaded the idea of breaking such a pleasant balance with what he was about to say. Still, tomorrow he would call Andy and hopefully he would go back to his job in the next few days, since the wrappings around his wrist had been removed and the healing of his ribs could be neither accelerated nor slowed down, no matter what.

He couldn't postpone this talk anymore.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself. Finished with your book, already?” Joe regaled him a soft smile.

“Not yet, but I'm almost there.”

“Mhh. What's the title, again?”

“ _The name of the rose_. You'd like the main character, I think.”

Nicky had been extremely surprised when, last Friday, he'd decided for a brief detour from his usual morning stroll and, wandering into the nearby bookstore, had found that book that he'd read back in high-school. It wasn't the Italian version, obviously, but it had been nice to buy it and read it once more anyway. He could still remember the main plot, but he had been surprised by how many details he'd forgotten, and how many others his younger self had missed.

“Well, I liked the movie. Which, from the face you're pulling, wasn't nearly as good as it could've been.”

Nicky was, indeed, grimacing. He chose to spare Joe his very heated opinions about the movie and instead approached a safer topic of conversation.

“What are you drawing?”

Joe, Nicky knew, was a very talented artist, but he never showed Nicky what he was working on. Despite the many sketchbooks laying all around the house, Nicky never opened them. It felt like an invasion of privacy.

“A portrait. Of a friend.” He shrugged. Nicky wished to know more, but Joe didn't give him time enough to ask. “So, what's up?”

“I, uh, was thinking about something.” Nicky scratched his head, suddenly finding it difficult to say what he had to. Joe cocked his head and motioned for him to go on. “Tomorrow I'll call Andy, and I hope to come back to the office in a few days. And, well, I don't really have any clothes to wear? I mean, it's stupid, but I only realized it now...”

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course. You're right!” Joe exclaimed. “How could I not think of it? We could go shopping tomorrow, if you want? Or you can totally go while I'm not home, obviously, it's fine, you don't need me to be there, but it would be a pleasure for me, if you want me to.”

Nicky couldn't help but chuckle. “It'd be great, really, but that's not what I was thinking. My stuff is all at Steven's,” It didn't escape him the narrowing of Joe's eyes at the mention of that name, “and I don't think he's thrown it away. At least, I hope not. And I was... I was hoping I could go back to take it, that's all.”

Joe very carefully put down his pencils and sat up straight, jaw squared. He took a deep breath, and Nicky almost feared he would start screaming at him, if not for the fact the Joe wasn't Steven and Nicky knew, rationally, that he would never do something like that. Still, reflexively, he tensed.

“No. I mean, sorry Nicky, but _no_. Don't go back there. Please.”

“Joe, I _can't_ buy my whole wardrobe from scratch, and that's exactly what I need: all my stuff. And I don't mean only clothes. I have old pictures, books, CDs,” he explained.

Joe took his hand and patted it gently. Nicky didn't try to stop him. There was something that allowed Joe to pass through all of his defenses without feeling intrusive, nor threatening, and Nicky rejoiced in it. He might be broken, but maybe not beyond repair.

“Nicky, I know you've practically lost everything you own, and I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you, but you have to think carefully about it.”

“I did. I'm not just going to knock on Steven's door, I actually thought of a plan.”

“A plan? Nicky, this is no game, it's dangerous! Look at what happened to you!” Joe gestured wildly.

“I fell.” The reply was automatic by now, as was Joe's pained expression. Nicky blushed, ashamed. He didn't know who he was trying to fool anymore, but pretending was easier than acknowledging the truth and voicing it out loud.

“Still. Please reconsider it,” Joe pleaded.

“I can't. I won't.” Nicky looked at Joe.

He pulled his hand, and Joe's ones, in his lap. With his thumb, he absentmindedly began stroking Joe's knuckles. He had strong hands, artist's hands, with calluses and cured nails; their strength didn't scare him. Another thing he'd learned in the past weeks, was that touching Joe was nice, was familiar, was _safe_.

Joe sighed, defeated. He looked tired around the eyes, Nicky thought. He was sad to know he was the cause of it.

“And I know what to do. But I need your help... if you want to. I already asked so much of you, Joe, and I am beyond grateful for all you're doing, I will never be able to repay you-”

“You don't need to.”

“-but I hope that someday I will. Still, I find myself in need of asking for your help once more.”

Joe stared at him, mouth a thin unhappy line and a small frown creasing his eyebrows. Nicky didn't speak anymore, and gave him time to assess and to decide autonomously. Time and room to breathe, Nicky owned him, among a lot of other things. He wondered if the balance would ever be even between them, and he hoped that Joe wasn't feeling too suffocated by the whole situation, because the more he thought about it, the more it was clear that his was a bad idea, maybe he _should_ have gone back on his own, should not have involved Joe, after all he'd made it on his own for a long time and he was still here, wasn't he, and -

And then Joe sighed.

“Alright. What do I have to do?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Booker followed Joe up the stairs and toward the doors of their respective apartments. He took care to keep his umbrella as far away from his coat as possible. God, the weather in England was terrible. He would never get used to it.

“Are you sure you can't tell me what this is about?” he asked for the third time.

“No, this is Nicky's stuff to talk about.”

“But you're the one who asked me to come here after work to see him.”

Joe turned, one hand on the banister, and glared at him, eyes narrowed. “Booker, he tried to call you and sent you at least ten texts in the past couple of days. You never replied, so he resorted to using me as a messanger.”

He winced. “How...”

“He told me, when I asked him why he wasn't contacting you directly.”

Booker blushed. He knew he was coming off as an asshole, but still, “Has he admitted to what really happened, yet?”

“We never talk about it, you know that Book,” Joe replied with a sigh.

The tiredness he'd come back to work with had dissipated in the past days, and Booker was grateful for it, knowing how Joe cared for Nicky, how much he loved him; still, that subject was an important one and Booker was absolutely unwilling to let it go. It didn't matter the imaginary daggers Quynh kept throwing him, or Andy's look of silent disapproval, or Nile's cold shoulder. He knew that his words had needed to be said – even if he had to admit that he could've handled the situation better than he did.

Still, he'd already apologized to Joe. So why wasn't he ready to take a chance with Nicky himself, even when his friend had tried to call him repeatedly?

“Then that's a no.”

“That's not a no. He needs time to come around.”

“I don't want to hear anymore of that bullshit, Joe.”

“You won't. He's something to ask you. You'll be... surprised, I guess that's a way to put it. Please, Book, _please_ humor him and at least hear him out?” Joe pleaded, pitiful.

Booker had noticed a shift in his mood that morning, when he'd come to the office grim faced. It was a stark contrast compared to the past couple of weeks, when he had been constantly smiling and seemed to be happy enough, much to nobody's surprise. He was worried. Whatever this meeting was about, he had a bad feeling about it.

He sighed.

Whatever Nicky had gotten himself into, it clearly was grave enough that it had managed to pull Joe from his blessed state, which wasn't an easy accomplishment. Joe _could_ be pretty oblivious, when he wanted to. Booker was weary.

“Okay, yeah.” He knew a lost cause when he saw one, and denying Joe on top of stubbornly avoiding Nicky wasn't something he wanted to do. “But this doesn't mean I agree to anything.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The diner was busy. It was, after all, Saturday morning at lunch hour, and people were enjoying a good, very late breakfast with their families, children, friends. It was a nice place, one Joe didn't know, homey and luminous. The croissants and small pastries looked delicious and he was sure his coffee was pretty good too, but it tasted like acid on his tongue and gave him the nausea.

Sitting next to him at the counter, Booker didn't look any better. He'd asked the waitress to add some whiskey to his own cup, and the woman had raised an eyebrow and glanced meaningfully at the clock, but still obliged him. Both of them, he knew, looked grim and stood out in the relaxed atmosphere of the place like a sore thumb, and still, they couldn't help it.

For, sitting on the table in the corner, right in their line of sight but out of hearing reach, was Steven Merrick with Nicky.

And Joe, may he be damned, had agreed to come here and be around the fucker even if he knew he would gladly break his neck at the first chance he got.

“What do you think they're talking about? We've been here for a while now?” Booker asked. The Frenchman wasn't even blinking, keeping his eyes on Steven's head resolutely and burning holes in it.

Joe shrugged. Hell if he knew.

Nicky's plan, in the end, had been simple enough. With the help of Booker and Copley, their IT expert who Joe firmly believed had been a hacker in a previous life, they'd managed to make Nicky's phone untraceable and not-contactable by Merrick's, and Nicky had used it to call his asshole of an ex-boyfriend to demand they meet. The diner had happened to be the chosen place.

Initially, Nicky's idea hadn't involved both Joe and Booker to come with him, but the Frenchman had been irremovable when he'd understood what was going on, so now here he was, too, blue eyes promising thunder. Joe suspected that, if Merrick only tried so much as to touch one of Nicky's hair, Booker would be more than glad to beat the bastard into a pulp. He didn't know where all that hate came from, but abusive assholes were very high on Joe's own personal list of most hated specimens, therefore if Booker ever decided to vent his frustration and actually beat the guy, Joe would gladly help him. Still, they'd both promised to leave Nicky alone to do what he needed to, so they had refrained themselves and settled for looking as threatening as possible.

Nicky, for his part, so far had spent most of his time alternating between a halting conversation and meant glaring at Steven and exchanging some words. Sometimes he glanced towards them, nodded at Booker and simply looked at Joe.

Besides, Joe thought, it was lucky that Booker had decided to join them, because Merrick wasn't alone either. When they'd walked into the diner together, the pompous bastard had glared at them darkly, and next to him was a man who looked grim and quite possibly dangerous, with a devious smirk that had quickly fallen when he, too, had understood that Nicky wasn't on his own.

“Do you think this bastard wanted to kidnap him?” Joe asked Booker. Said bastard was sitting by himself at a different table near the windows, staring alternately at the couple talking and at them.

“Kidnap? No. Probably.” Booker took a sip from his smelly cup. “Intimidate? Absolutely.”

Joe asked the waitress for a refill and distractedly went back to sipping on his cup. Now Merrick was getting animated, gesturing widely, while Nicky was perfectly still. He interjected, Merrick stilled, Nicky talked fast, and Merrick became agitated again. Booker tensed and shifted on the edge of his seat, ready to intervene. Joe, who was staring like a hawk, put his cup down on the counter and glanced at Merrick's friend, who was staring at them both with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Joe met them, and didn't lower his gaze. The idiot had chosen the wrong person to try and play games with.

By nature, Joe wasn't a violent man. He was a pacifist, made friends with everybody and could recall throwing a punch only once in high school, when he had to intervene to defend young Amira, his neighbor, from a couple of boys who'd become hazardously handsy. He'd gone back home with three stitches on his cheek and still trembling legs, his dad had yelled at him and then hugged him saying he'd done good and he was proud, but had made him promise that he would avoid violence whenever said option was needed. Still, now, he was ready to reconsider his words.

Merrick punched the table, and a nice couple sitting next to them with their infant child turned to glare at him, while Nicky flinched hard but otherwise stared him down. Joe was frankly impressed, and secretly proud. Booker beside him growled. Merrick passed his hand through his hair, took a breath, looked like he apologized, and Nicky nodded minutely. Then he found Joe's eyes, and their gazes locked for a moment, enough for things to go to hell.

As he looked at him, Nicky smiled one of his small smiles, barely a twitch of his lips, and his eyes softened a fraction. _It's okay_ , he was saying, _I'm alright_. Joe, instinctively, beamed back. And in that moment, probably following Nicky's line of sight, Merrick turned around, spotted him, and his face became crimson. It would've been almost comical if it wasn't so _scary_.

It was like a light has been switched on. All of a sudden, he was on his feet, towering over Nicky, and Booker was out of his seat in a heartbeat. Before he could process what was going on, Joe found himself moving, too, running through the tables, narrowly avoiding a child and a waitress whose hands were full of half-empty plates. On the side, Merrick's friend had also gotten on his feet, but his path was blocked by a couple of strollers and he moved much slower than them.

 _Good,_ Joe thought. _If we beat him there, he won't have a chance to hurt Nicky_.

Because Joe had no doubt: that was the goal behind that devious glint in those cold eyes.

He felt like time had slowed down. As he and Booker made their way through the tables and the patrons, as Merrick's friend tried to push away the strollers, Joe saw Nicky getting on his feet in front of Merrick, who was hissing obscenities. Then, as if on slow-motion, the asshole was pulling his arm back, ready to deliver a _blow_ , for fuck's sake, the man was really going to slap or punch Nicky in there, in public, in front of all those patrons, he was a crazy son of a bitch, he-

Nicky _punched the light out of him_. Nicky _actually punched his ugly face. Holy shit!_

He was exceptionally quick, extremely efficient, and scarily precise.

 _Fucking sexy_.

Joe's cock twitched, inopportune as it was, and he halted to a stop, blushing and breathless, struck by the thought that he was an horrible perv and contemporary trying to process what the hell had just happened. Because Nicky, kind Nicky, helpless Nicky, innocent Nicky, dorky Nicky, Nicky who was soft and caring and clumsy, had just broken the nose of his abuser in a perfect imitation of Primo Carnera, which was great and disturbing and alienating at the same time.

Merrick, the poor fucker, actually spit out a tooth, and that was what made reality come back.

Booker, in front of him, looked stunned as well. He let out an awed _Wow_ that luckily only Joe heard, staring. Then he was quick to come back to his senses and, knowing that the situation with Merrick was under control, he turned and marched towards Merrick's friend instead, identifying him as the main threat now. In the confusion that had arisen all around them at the unfolding of the events, Booker marched through the tables and the families with a murder strut that made Joe's eyes bug, and stopped right in front of Merrick's friend, the strollers being the only barrier separating them.

“I'd be careful with what you're about to say or do, my friend,” Joe heard him growl threatening at the asshole, who freezed.

He was aware that, around him, people were staring. A couple of families had gathered their stuff and were leaving the place quickly, probably fearing a brawl, while the waitresses were threatening to call the police. A few children were crying, probably scared at the sight of blood and _of a tooth laying on the floor like a used tissue_.

Joe jogged quickly up to Nicky, took his hand in his, and pulled him aside, toward the exit. Nicky didn't put up any resistance, but his eyes, suddenly dark and cold, reeking of an ugliness that Joe had never seen in them, never left Merrick's. The son of a bitch, whiny little coward that he was, was actually _crying_ while he held his bleeding nose and his mouth in his hands.

With a muffled voice, he panted, “You broke my nose. You broke my mouth!”

“You did much worse than that,” Nicky replied, with a iciness Joe had never seen come from him, but his voice wasn't as steady as he appeared and Joe instinctively knew that he was going to crumble. He was growing paler by the moment.

Joe gripped his arm tightly and moved him so that he was shielding him with his body, putting himself between Nicky and Merrick just as the asshole grabbed Nicky's other arm with the unoccupied hand.

“Let him go, or I swear that nose will be the last of your problems.”

Merrick looked him in the eyes, and whatever he saw there was enough to scare him off, for he dropped his hold like Nicky's arm was scalding. _Good_.

“We will be there tomorrow morning. Leave the key under the door mat and don't be there. By lunch, we'll be gone,” Nicky said.

“You can't do this to me!” Merrick half wined, half yelled like a spoiled child.

“I can. And I will.”

“I gave you my home!”

“I never wanted your home, Steven. And it was never mine. It was merely a house. Yours. I lived there, but it was yours, like everything else,” Nicky spoke.

Joe's heart positively broke. _It was Merrick's, like everything else_. Was Nicky talking about his own person, too? Was that what he saw himself as, how Merrick made him feel? Like a thing to possess, to own? Joe felt nauseous.

“You're a whore Nicky, a fucking -”

Joe could feel Nicky trembling where they were pressed together. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “He said what you have to do. And you'd better do it, _silently_. You don't want to know what happens otherwise, trust me. Now shut the fuck up, and pay the bill.”

He half pushed, half pulled Nicky away from the table and near the entrance, where Booker met them, still busy staring off Merrick's friend. He could feel the heavy gazes of the people around them. Men and women alike were sparing them disapproving glances, some looked scandalized, others frightened, while the kids at the tables had wide shocked eyes. The waitresses were holding their phones up, ready to dial the police and ask for their intervention, and were looking at them with coldness, silently telling them not to come back here.

In any other situation, Joe would've apologized for the scene they had caused, but today he didn't, still too shocked by Nicky's actions and by his own words. He simply turned around. Quickly, they hurried out, walked fast down the street, turned the corner, and Nicky all but collapsed at the entrance of the nearby alley; Joe's own knees felt wobbly, and he crouched down while Nicky sat with his back against the wall.

“Well, fuck me,” Booker exhaled, and suddenly Joe was laughing and Nicky was chuckling. Booker grinned, too.

Things had been tense that morning as well as a few days ago, when Nicky and Booker had met face to face for the first time. They had both apologized, haltingly, and done their best to act as if everything was alright, and Booker had heard Nicky out and then reluctantly but freely agreed to the plan much like Joe had. Still, the tension had been there nonetheless all the while. Now, all of them laughing together to the point of crying, relieving the stress of the morning, Joe felt like something had shifted. He took Nicky's hand and squeezed it; Nicky squeezed his fingers back.

“His face!” Joe gasped.

He knew that the situation wasn't nearly as hilarious as they were making it sound, but anxiety could do unimaginable things to a man's perspective in such moments. The adrenaline drop was making him delirious, he figured.

“I didn't think you had it in you, Nicky.”

“Neither did I, Book. Neither did I,” the Italian quietly agreed.

Booker smirked, and gently squeezed Nicky's shoulder. “Andy would've been proud.”

Joe snorted “No, she would've joined in, that's what she'd have done. And Quynh would've been there cheering.”

Booker laughed, and nodded. Yes, it sounded like something those two scary women would've done, and that's why they all loved them so much.

“Damn! I wished I filmed it. Do you think that they'll send me the security footage if I ask them?”

Nicky snorted loudly and Joe swatted Booker's arm. _Idiot._

Joe was still smirking, when Nicky sobered up and all of a sudden began sobbing before he could stifle the sound with the palm of his hand. Booker looked at him, immediately sober, then at Joe, clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed. Joe simply rubbed circles on Nicky's back, waiting for him to calm down. He was freaking out, but it was expected, and he looked more composed than Joe would have thought. In the same situation, he would've been a mess. Nicky kept sobbing for a couple of minutes, but didn't cry.

Finally, they got on his feet, Nicky using the sleeves of Joe's borrowed old jacket to clean his face. Joe felt that he was trembling, adrenaline having wore off and felt exhaustion and fear behind.

“Sorry,” he quietly apologized, but Joe only waved him off, and Booker put a hand around his shoulder on the side not occupied by Joe himself.

“Don't be silly.”

“Come on,” Joe got up himself, and tugged Nicky towards the street. The Italian didn't seem prone to letting go of his hand any time soon, and Joe was only happy to hold him near for as long as he could. Booker seemed content to trail along.

“Time to go home,” he said.

“Home,” Nicky murmured. “Yes. _Home_.”

They made it to Joe's small car, which was parked a block away, and they got in.

Within an hour, they were back to their apartment block, and Nicky was asleep on the passenger's seat, with Booker snoring in the back.

  
  


* * *

  
  


As if by unspoken agreement, Joe and Nicky found themselves sitting on Joe's sofa as the light out the window dimmed. Winter in London didn't allow nearly as many hours of light as they both would've preferred. At least is wasn't raining.

“Thank you,” Nicky quietly said suddenly, breaking the silence that had easily settled.

He was wearing his beloved hoodie and staring at the black screen of the TV, when Joe turned his head to look at him. His eyes seemed a little less hunted than usual.

“Don't mention it,” he replied in an equally low voice.

For a while, they simply stayed there, in the calming quietness of the early evening, just relaxing. It was pleasant, sharing that strange sort of casual intimacy. Joe loved it. He hoped once again that Nicky would decide to leave as late as possible: he'd grown so used to his calming, quiet yet companionable presence that he didn't know how, before, such silence in his apartment hadn't felt deafening, and he knew that, once he was gone, it would never be the same for him.

Nicky, for his part, seemed content enough to enjoy the relaxed atmosphere at least for now. He hadn't brought up plans about renting his own place so far, and unless he looked for his new apartment when Joe was at the office, he'd never seen him search for one, either. As of now, he'd slumped against the cushions with a leg tucked underneath the other, and Joe's comforter draped over his lap.

“Are you cold?” he asked, moving closer, so that their bodies were touching from knee to shoulder.

“It's fine,” Nicky replied.

Then, he shifted a bit, pulling a corner of the blanked from where it had been trapped between them, and raised it in silent invitation. Joe took it for what it was and, gratefully, slid it over himself, so that now they were sharing the warmth. He wasn't cold, but this was simply too perfect an opportunity to pass. Nicky initiating contact, inviting Joe to share it, was something that they'd discovered only recently, and Joe loved moments like these. He treasured them for the precious gems they were, and rejoiced each time Nicky took a new small step forward and made an effort to expand his comfort zone.

His left hand fished for the remote until he found it.

“How about a movie?” he proposed.

Nicky nodded. “Something funny?”

“Mhh, let's see what we have.”

Joe pulled up his Netflix queue, which was composed in equal parts of movies he regularly came back to see and of which he knew almost every line, and of other ones he always promised himself to watch someday and somehow always postponed to do it. He looked for something that Nicky would like in the first category, the one he'd privately dubbed “comfort-movies”. He found an romantic comedy released a couple of years prior.

“How about this?”

“Looks... interesting.”

Joe put the movie on, and the remote down. As the introductory music started, Nicky sighed.

“I should really start prepare dinner, though, if we don't want to eat at midnight.”

“How about some takeout, for once? It's not a tragedy if you don't cook all our meals, Nicky.”

“Are you sure? I promised you _trofie al pesto_ and _sogliola_ this morning before we left.”

Joe laughed. “I'm positive. Let's just relax for once, uh?”

“Okay.”

They stayed like that through the whole movie, laughing at the puns and just enjoying the evening. As Joe chose another comedy to watch, Nicky called to have some Indian food delivered, and they ate like that, sprawled on the sofa, with crumbles that fell everywhere. Nicky's scandalized face made Joe laugh and he felt lighter than he had in a long time. He regretted not having his phone nearby, but did his best to commit that expression to memory. He would add it to the others he'd captured in his sketches so far, each precious and dear.

Despite the difficult morning, against all odds, the day was ending pretty well. Joe was grateful for it. He had hopes for tomorrow.

At some point, plates discarded on the floor at their feet, underneath the comforter, Nicky's hand found Joe's.

When their fingers first brushed, Joe almost jumped in surprise.

 _It must be a casual touch,_ he thought, trying to dismiss his racing heart.

He turned, but Nicky was resolutely staring at the TV, following the dialogues. And his hand was still there, near Joe's, and in fact he could feel the warmth of his skin. Joe gulped, unsure: he really, really wanted to intertwine their fingers together, but what if he was misreading the whole situation? Addressing the move felt like the wrong thing to do, like making a big deal out of it, like attracting attention to something better taken for what it was and nothing more; but, at the same time, it _was_ a big deal, because Nicky was reaching out like that for the first time. He was initiating physical contact with Joe, he wasn't simply sitting near him, or allowing it. But, if Joe pointed it out, he knew Nicky would retreat into his shell once more, and that was the last thing he wanted.

His heart beat furiously against his ribs as Joe took Nicky's hand in his and held it for the duration of the movie.

Nicky smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eheh, what do you say??? I'm curious!
> 
> Writing this chapter was... hard, and good. I wanted to add more scenes, and at the same time I didn't want to make it too long, and to have you all waiting for the update. So, here's the ending result.
> 
> I thought of writing *SPOILER* Joe punching Merrick, and then Andy, and then I told myself that, no, Nicky didn't come so far to be saved by others. Fuck it, Nicky will save himself, he wants to save himself, he's worked so hard and made so many progresses, so he will be the one throwing the punch, and the one speaking. Nicky doesn't need to hide behind others to do it.
> 
> In case this isn't clear, Nicky's me. When I first saw the movie (no, I never read the graphic novel, I don't really like them) I felt a connection with his character, I don't know why. When I finally decided to put into words the idea for this fic, that I've had for far longer than a few months, I had no doubt that Nicky would be the main character, and Joe would be the person who *SPOILER* would make him happy again. But Joe won't be Nicky's savior; he'll be a helping hand, a support, his found family along with the rest of the team, but Nicky will save himself. So, yes, Nicky's me. I'm saving myself, or at least I think I'm trying. I don't have my Joe, not yet. But, fingers crossed, someday I'll find them! (For now, I have a dog!!! Puppies, right? :D)
> 
> Now Nicky's ready for a new beginning. There is still some angst ahead, but he is already moving on, so I think he'll manage to work through it and come out stronger.
> 
> On an ending note: happy holidays, my friends. Stay safe and, hopefully, we will be here once more for the next update, at the very beginning of the new year (the chapter still has to be written).


	7. Overcoming abuse doesn't just happen, it takes positive steps everyday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! And happy new year! :)
> 
> Here is the second (maybe third) to last chapter of this fic, and it's the longest to far. It's a slow chapter, mainly introspective. There is some angst at the beginning, and then it focuses on Nicky's steps toward recovery and on Joe's help. I hope you'll like it and I look forward to reading your opinions.
> 
> There are no particular warnings I can think of.
> 
> On a last note, I would like to thank all of you who have left a review on the last chapter. I read them all and, starting later today, I will reply; I didn't to it before, because I wanted to concentrate on this new chapter, which had to be written from scratch.

As they got out of the elevator, Nicky took a deep, steadying breath. His fingers clenched around the vase containing a bouquet of colorful flowers, wishing that it was instead Joe's hand that he was holding, like he'd done yesterday. It had been lovely; Nicky would never forget the warmth that had spread in his chest as they laced their fingers together in the intimacy of the moment. It had been so casual yet so cozy, and never embarrassing, not even when the movie had ended and Nicky had gone to his room to sleep. If anything, Joe had been smiling brighter than the sun.

Now though, that moment was only a distant memory.

He eyed the door of Steven's apartment before he walked down the corridor in the opposite direction. Joe, not knowing any better, followed him, and raised an eyebrow when, instead of looking for the key underneath the doormat, he knocked on the door.

“I though I told him to leave before you came by.”

“This is not his house,” Nicky replied, still waiting for a sign of life from the inside.

When none came, he gently lowered the flowers and carefully put them near the door, in a position where they could be visible but nobody would accidentally trip on them.

When, that morning, Nicky had asked Joe to stop in a florist shop, he'd done it on a whim, an idea coming into his mind. Joe hadn't commented, but he'd frowned. He had probably feared that the flowers were for Steven. Nicky though had just had smiled at him, silently asking for him to have faith, and as always, Joe had granted it.

Nicky would never stop being amazed by the sheer perfection of this man, he thought. He was falling a bit more each day. He didn't know how he would ever be able to go live on his own.

The flowers weren't for Steven, obviously. Nicky bought them for old Mrs. Johnson, who'd granted him his chance for freedom – and, apparently, for a new kind of happiness – where most people in the same situation would've looked the other way, more preoccupied with maintaining a good relationship with their neighbor than to help someone who was basically a stranger. Mrs Johnson had been a savior. Nicky had asked himself more than once if God had sent her for him.

A bouquet of flowers was way less than she would've deserved, but Nicky couldn't come up with better ideas for gifts to old ladies. He had hoped that he would be able to thank her in person, and to say goodbye properly, but she wasn't home and they couldn't afford to lose any more time with his sentimentalism. So, the flowers left there with a few words written on their note, Nicky turned and motioned for Joe to follow him.

He hoped that Mrs Johnson would appreciate this small gesture.

“This way,” he said, leading Joe, who walked right beside him, his presence, by now familiar, comforting as always.

“So, will you tell me what's up with the flowers?”

“Let's just say that a nice old lady lives there, and she did me a favor I wished to thank her for,” he simply replied; it wasn't too far from the truth, after all, but he still wasn't ready to tell the story out loud. Not yet.

Then, they reached the door of the right apartment, and underneath the doormat was indeed the key Nicky was so familiar with.

Joe looked impressed, walking into the living room of Steven's place. Nicky knew that once, what felt like a very long time ago, he'd had the same reaction. The apartment, after all, was spacious, brightly lit, tastefully decorated. The furniture was new and shiny. Its light color tastefully contrasted with the dark wood of the floor, and everything screamed _expensive._

It was a beautiful cage. But a cage, nonetheless.

Nicky didn't waste any time looking around, instead he walked purposefully toward the bedroom, and once there, to the deep walk-in closet. He was careful not to look at the bed. He had way too many bad memories about it.

When he'd sold his apartment, he'd thrown away most of his stuff; Steven had been adamant about not having enough space for his things, and Nicky had been too tired to fight, even back then. Still, he'd brought a big suitcase full of his clothes, some possessions he didn't want to be separated from, and most important of all, a cardboard box with some memorabilia that were very dear to him. If he had to say the whole truth, those were the real reason for being back here.

He opened the door of the closet, and was immediately assaulted by the smell, so familiar, that brought back many memories. Memories Nicky didn't want to think of, right now.

He was determined in his movements when he pushed aside Steven's clothes and pulled his suitcase from the side.

“Can I help you pack anything?” Joe asked him. He was standing near the door, as if unwilling to step in the room more than was strictly necessary.

“Don't you mind?”

“Of course not,” Joe replied with a small smile.

Neither of them felt really up to smiling, being in a place that felt hostile and cold.

“Do you see that shelf, the second one?”

“The smaller one?”

“Yeah. Those are my books ad my CDs.”

“I'll put them in my bag,” Joe immediately replied, shaking the empty bag he'd brought from his apartment for emphasis, and began working.

Nicky, suitcase opened and put on the bed, reached the small space reserved for him in the walk-in closet. As he'd expected, Steven hadn't thrown away his things, probably believing that he would be back soon.

 _Though luck_.

He pulled his shirts from their hangers, folded them carefully enough, and put them away. Then he did the same thing with his trousers, the cardigans, some sweaters, a few t-shirts. After that came the underwear and socks, and he stashed them all inside the suitcase until there wasn't space anymore. He eyed it critically, then shrugged. Anything left was of little importance to him; a few t-shirts he'd never liked, old jogging pants with fraying edges, a cardigan with a faded spot where he'd inadvertently spilled ammonia once.

He turned to look at Joe, who was carefully lowering some volumes inside the bag, and almost smiled. Looking at Joe had that kind of effect on him.

Attention back once more at the wardrobe, he knelt down and moved a few boxes and containers until he found what he'd been looking for. It was a small cardboard box with his name written on it in indelible mark. He pulled it toward himself, surprised that the layer of dust on it was so thin. He got back to the bed, sitting down with the box on his knees. It was a fairly light, yet it held Nicky's most treasured possessions.

Nicky thought that he had everything he needed, they should go now before Steven decided to come back, maybe bringing back a few of his friends like he'd done yesterday, but couldn't help himself and opened it.

The album of old pictures was the first thing he looked at. Opening it, he saw a photo of himself, three days old and bundled up in baby clothes, while a man he couldn't remember held him and smiled. Turning the page, a woman he had vague memories of smiled at the camera hugging him, dressed as a lion on Carnival's day, then in his best Sunday clothes, then in small swimming trunks at the seaside. She was beautiful, but her eyes were always sad. Then, an older woman, this one still fresh in his memories, his beloved grandmother, his _nonna_. The woman who had raised him, the only real family he had. The rest of the album was filled with pictures of them, taken over the years. And while Nicky got taller, had his first face hair, wore his first tie, her hair became grayer, she grew frailer, the lines on her face intensified in quantity and depth.

Nicky put the album aside before the tears in his eyes could fall. Having been separated from these things for so long had been _hard_.

Under the album, was the red collar made of fake leather of Sheila, his first dog, and the gray nylon one of Ira, the second. They'd been his friends going up, them and _nonna_ , of course. When they'd died, he'd kept the collars, unwilling to throw them in the trash. Next to them, he found a hand-knitted, too small hat of an hideous purple color. His grandmother had made it for him one winter, when she'd already been very old, and couldn't see well anymore, but her hands had known on their own the pattern to knit it. It had always been too small for him to wear, but he'd never had the heart to throw it away.

And then, underneath it all, was the most treasured item of all, a framed picture of himself and _nonna_ , on the day of his degree. By then, she'd been old and frail, but from that picture you would've never guessed, because she appeared beaming and joyful, her eyes full of emotion, of life. She had been glowing with pride at his accomplishment. Nicky had been the first in his – very little, very dilapidated – famil, to get a degree from a prestigious university.

Back at his small apartment, the picture had been on the kitchen counter; it had been the last thing he'd put in the box when he'd left. Here, Steven had been uninterested in putting it anywhere, so Nicky'd left it in the box, waiting for the right opportunity to bring it out. In his new place, Nicky thought as his hand finally found the frame and began pulling it out, he would make sure to keep for it a special spot somewhere nice, maybe in the living room, where he could look at it every day. Probably Joe wouldn't mind if Nicky put it somewhere in his own apartment, too, but Nicky didn't want to ask anymore from him. Besides, he could look at it whenever he wanted now, and put it back in the box when he was done; no need to bother Joe about it.

Finally, he pulled it out. A gasp, high pitched and horrible, escaped his lips.

“Nicky?! What is it?'”

Joe put the box down on the floor and was next to him in a moment, but Nicky almost didn't register his presence, his eyes unable to leave the framed picture he had loved so much. It was, now, destroyed, ripped to pieces and half burnt. His _nonna_ 's face was an unrecognizable mess.

Nicky dropped the frame and covered his face as tears began to freely fall.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Joe couldn't sleep.

He'd texted Andy, told her he wouldn't go to the office the next day. She'd immediately called him, asking if he was okay, if they both were alright, if something had happened. The repercussions of what had occurred the last time someone had taken a few days off so suddenly were clearly having their effects on her. Joe had apologized, claiming to be feeling nauseous, maybe because of a stomach bug, who knew? And she'd told him to take care.

The truth was that Joe was nauseous for real, but for reasons entirely different from the ones he'd claimed.

Nicky'd locked himself in the bedroom. He'd remained there the whole day, sneaking out only once to use the bathroom. He had not come out for lunch, nor for dinner. When Joe'd knocked on his door, he'd answered, but his voice had sounded empty, emotionless. The sandwiches Joe had scrunched up had been left untouched on the small table next to the door. Looking at them, miserable as they were, Joe wondered how he'd managed to avoid starvation for so many years; that's what a couple of weeks of home-made dinners prepared by his Italian guest had made him realize. The suitcase with Nicky's clothes was abandoned near the entrance door. The bag with his books and some CDs of mixed music was on the small table in the kitchenette.

The cardboard box was in the bedroom with Nicky.

Joe had been impressed, when they'd entered Merrick's house, but not in a positive way. Sure, the place was elegant, but it felt so sterile, so impersonal. It had given Joe the chills. The bedroom, in particular, had him on edge. The thing he couldn't help but notice, had been the total lack of Nicky's things laying around. It was like he'd never lived in that apartment at all. That's why he'd been happy as he'd been given something to do, busying himself while Nicky packed his clothes and his stuff: simply staying there and looking around was unnerving him.

When Nicky had sat down to look into the old cardboard box with his name on it, the one that he'd fished out from behind a stack of other stuff, Joe had already been mostly done with stuffing the bag with Nicky's books, but he'd stayed away, simply looking at what Nicky did. The Italian acted like Joe wasn't even there, lost in memories or thoughts, as he took out old stuff that clearly held a deep sentimental value for him. An album filled with photos was the first thing he cradled in his hands, and Joe caught a glimpse of some of its content, even if it felt like intruding in a very personal moment. Then, a couple of dog collars, both old and clearly used; after that, a hat of an hideous purple color, which seemed new and small, probably belonging to a child. And then -

 _Then_ , _that picture. Damn, that picture_.

Joe turned on his side, curling up under the blanket, hugging a pillow to his chest.

One of the people on it was Nicky, one eye had survived the flame that had eaten the photographic film away, but it was enough for Joe to make him recognizable. He could still distinguish the curve of a his chin, and part of a mop of brown hair. The other person though, had been completely disfigured. The face had been burnt to the point that holes were where once a mouth had been captured, the paper black and curling on its edges. He had only been able to make out some parts of a deep dark red dress, classically tailored, something his mom or his granny would wear, he'd thought. The rest had been non-salvageable. Still, Joe had a pretty good idea of who she was.

Nicky had held the picture to his chest despite everything when, finally, he'd composed himself and picked it up from the floor where it had fallen. All the while, Joe had been on the verge of a heart attack, his soul torn apart by the gross sobbing and the tears he'd been impotent to stop. He'd tired to approach Nicky, to comfort him, but his vicinity had only worsened things; Nicky had kept his face hidden in his hands, and had turned away when Joe knelt in front of him. Then, he'd wiped away tears and mucus alike with the sleeve of the coat he was wearing; his eyes had been puffy and his cheeks a blotchy red. He had said nothing and wordlessly he'd left that horrible place, not sparing a single glance at what he was leaving behind. Joe had hurried after him, carrying the bag and pulling the suitcase along , equally silent

Nicky's eyes were an angry rose in the brightly lightened corridor, and he'd fished out a pair of dark sunglasses from his pocket and put them on. And even then, Joe'd been unable to do anything, had found no comforting word to offer; he had felt frustrated and impotent. Then, they'd walked to Joe's car and Nicky had began tearing up silently once more. It wasn't the ugly crying he had done at Merrick's. It was simply a constant leaking from his eyes, as if he was unable to stop the tears that kept coming.

Joe tossed, then turned to his other side, now facing the cushions of the sofa. The room was dark and felt stuffy. He huffed.

How could a person be so cruel? He kept asking himself the same questions whenever news of acts of wars and cruelties were printed in the papers, plastered all over the news, and as always, he couldn't find an answer. What prompted someone to beat a child, abuse an animal, torture another human being? For what reason certain people felt so entitled as to believe they owned other men and women who were human beings just like them? How could such monsters exist? Joe couldn't conceive it. Yet, there they were, everywhere, the proof of their existence on the TV news every day. And Joe could now say that he had come face to face with one of those animals, a little over 24 hours before, and he'd been so foolish and naive to believe that Nicky's punch had been payment enough for all the trouble the asshole had caused to his friend. What an idiot. The memory of that face, those slightly too deep-set and close eyes gave him the creeps.

Joe turned once more, sighed, laid on his back. He had no hope of falling asleep tonight. His mind was wide awake and in turmoil, the day's events having affected him too much to rest. He knew he needed to process them, and that took time. But now he was exhausted, and he really wanted to at least fall into a slumber and forget, if only for a few hours.

He did his best to distract his mind. He tried to think of his latest holiday, then of the one he wanted to do next, of his family, of the new cat his mother had brought home and how his dad had complained over the video-call ( all the while petting it), and of the new set of pencils he wanted to buy. But, no matter what, his thoughts always came back to that morning.

_I'll never forget the look on his face, and his tears. God, his tears..._

He wished there was something he could do.

He rolled on his side once more. Pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he sighed, defeated.

_Fuck._

Joe was reaching out to grab the remote which was laying somewhere around there, he just had to find it in the dark, had to switch on the TV to at least have some company in this sleepless night, when the door of Nicky's room was pushed open with a quiet groan that resounded in the stillness of the house. Padded footsteps moved closer to the sofa.

Joe craned his neck and looked at the dark silhouette of Nicky hovering next to the armrest where the pillow cradling Joe's had was. In the darkness he couldn't make out his lineaments, nor his expression, but he knew that Nicky knew that he was awake. Yet, none of them spoke. In a pallid mimic of Nicky's gesture the day before, Joe found himself raising his blanket in silent invitation. He scooted over, pushing his back against the cushions of the sofa, leaving some room between himself and its edge. Room enough for one person, even if barely so.

Nobody was more surprised than Joe himself when the meaning of his gesture finally caught up in his overly-tired brain. Joe's eyes widened in the dark, and he opened his mouth to apologize, he didn't know what had gotten into him, really, and he didn't mean to presume nor imply anything by doing that. Hell, he was going to just lower his arm and then they could both pretend like he'd not just made a fool of himself, when Nicky moved around the armrest, in front of the sofa. He loomed over Joe's laying body, and then took hold of the corner of the blanket, sat down, and folded himself on the cushions. In the blink of an eye, he was next to Joe, right in front of him, his back to Joe's chest, their bodies aligned.

And it should've been uncomfortable, it should've been awkward, it should've been fucking _constricting_ because they were two grown up men on a medium sized couch. Instead, it was perfect.

The warmth of Nicky's body, his lean chest, the curve of his shoulders – everything seemed to be made exactly for the purpose of being held by Joe, right then and there, in a small cramped apartment during a cold winter night in an anonymous London neighborhood, where the atmosphere was reeking of apprehensiveness and still their two souls had found their way to each other.

_Finally._

Joe's arm, the one that wasn't squished between their bodies, found its way around Nicky's chest and, mindful of his still tender ribs, squeezed him gently. He figured that, if Nicky had found the courage to extend his hand towards him the previous night, and then once more to slide under the cover with him just now, he probably could allow himself to initiate this sort of half-hug.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You couldn't sleep?”

Nicky minutely shook his head. “And neither could you. You kept tossing and turning, I could hear you from the bed.”

“Sorry. My mind is too... wired up to sleep.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling.”

Joe absentmindedly caressed Nicky's chest, and one of Nicky's hands found his. Joe's movements stilled. Had he exaggerated? Had he stepped an invisible line and made Nicky uncomfortable? Then, he relaxed: Nicky wrapped nimble fingers around his wrist, in a gesture that didn't come off as constricting, and simply held on. Joe let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

“I'm sorry.”

“What for?”

“I should've expected something like that. Steven never needed to use his fists to hurt you badly. He could do more than enough with his words and his gestures. They're actually much worse than anything else, and he knows all my weaknesses. I guess I just... overestimated myself. After yesterday at the diner, you know-” he shrugged sheepishly with the shoulder not pressed against the cushions. “I thought I had become invincible. Untouchable. He reminded me that I'm not.”

Joe's forehead touched Nicky's shoulder. He scrunched up his eyebrows, searching for something to say, but just when he needed them the most, his words, always so eloquent, so vivid, failed him. He was unable to find an appropriate reply that could convey the myriad of emotions he was feeling. Oh, how unfair it was!

Oblivious of his inner self-berating, Nicky went on. “So yeah, I kind of over-reacted. I just wasn't expecting that. How foolish of me.”

“Hey, no. You had _every_ right to feel hurt. What he did is... disturbing.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“He's a bastard. I swear if I ever see him again-”

“You'll do nothing. You'll turn around and walk away, leave him there. You're better than he can ever dream to be, Joe. Don't lower yourself to his level. Not for me. Not for anyone else. Please.”

Hearing Nicky begging didn't sound right. Not even now. Joe squeezed his fingers.

“I promise,” he said with total sincerity. If that's what Nicky wanted, then that's what he would do.

Nicky nodded, and they stayed like that for a while. The silence was occasionally interrupted by cars driving by, their lights penetrating trough the shades. Someone laughed loudly down the street, drunk and giddy, and someone else shushed them sonorously, breaking into a giggling fit. Mrs. Kichenko's small terrier barked upstairs.

 _These are all the sounds of a normal Sunday night,_ Joe thought, _but today everything's different._

“You could still go to the police, you know that, right?” Joe finally said, aware that there was a high probability that his words would raise a fuss, and that at the same time they needed to be said.

Nicky tensed in his arms. “What for? A ruined picture?”

“That, and... all the other stuff.”

“No,” Nicky replied, voice unwavering. “No. It's over. I don't want to think about it anymore.”

“But Nicky! After all he did to you, after- after the hospital, and-” Joe inhaled sharply. “After _all that_ , don't you think he deserves so be punished? For justice's sake?”

Nicky remained still and silent for a moment, then he minutely shook his head. “He does, yes, but I- it's- I don't want to have anything to do with Steven anymore. I feel that closing this chapter of the book once an for all, receding all ties, is the only way I can move forward.”

At that, Joe couldn't find a reply. Many thoughts roamed freely in his head, many words were now on the tip of his tongue, but somehow, for all their importance, they seemed to pale in front of the prospective of Nicky doing something he didn't feel comfortable with. At the same time, though, the idea that Merrick would get away with all his actions, unpunished, made bile rise in his throat.

Nicky sighed, Joe shifted a bit. The silence between them stretched once more. His feet found Nicky's clad in his socks and still somehow too cold. Their shins bumped. That sofa really was too small for them, and the thought of moving to the bed briefly crossed his head, but Joe dismissed it. The uncomfortably narrow space seemed to fit well with their blue mood.

 _And I don't want to take any chances of him going away_.

“Her name was Adriana. My _nonna_ ,” Nicky said all of a sudden. “She's the woman in the picture. And she was my whole world, and I hers, for a long while.”

Joe buried his nose in the nape of Nicky's neck where his hair had grown longer lately, and they were always a bit scruffy.

He had already drawn the conclusion about the woman's identity. Joe knew about Nicky's grandmother, of course. Nicky often talked about her, anecdotes and small stories of growing up with her, a child and an old woman. Joe always suspected that it was his way of keeping her memory alive. They had been, after all, each other's whole and only family; with her gone, nobody was there to remember her anymore. Sharing memories was Nicky's way of giving her some life, once more, at least for a little while. Joe had always found it endearing, and exceedingly sad. Merrick purposefully ruined, burnt, crumpled the old woman's picture, cruel in the most cold-blooded way.

“I have so many pictures with her. Hundreds. And in that one I actually had such a stupid face, I looked like an idiot, but she'd loved it and _I_ _loved it_ and-” Nicky's voice broke. He inhaled sharply, but didn't break down once more. That was surprising.

_I guess he's used all is tears because of that fucker Merrick, and now he's none left to spare._

Joe saw him physically fortifying himself.

“I think my friend Francesco might still have a copy of it. He took it, the day I got my degree. I'll try to contact him tomorrow.”

Joe pulled Nicky against him, buried his face between their shoulder blades. He didn't know why, precisely, but he was feeling proud – proud of the simple yet very important resolution the man next to him had made in this moment of difficulty. He had not despaired. He'd not crumbled. He had not _broken._

Nicky had the special gift of being able to always surprise him, it seemed.

“That's a good idea. I really hope he can help you,” Joe murmured. “We can have it printed once more,” he added, before he could think anymore of it, or reflect too much about that _we_ he'd just said.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.” Nicky shifted slightly, his hand still holding Joe's. He flexed his fingers, squeezing his.

Joe sighed and realized that he didn't feel angry anymore, suddenly. He felt only tired. He tried to arrange the blanket a bit better. His left foot was freezing since the blanket was too small for the both of them, but he'd happily catch a cold rather than move and break this moment that they were sharing. Nicky's own feet were still too cold, but he man didn't seem to notice; maybe for him it was normal? He was probably one of those people with shitty circulation.

But no matter the constricting space, or the coldness of his numb limbs, Nicky in his arms felt... right. He felt like he belonged there.

“Joe?”

“Yes?”

“I know I've put you through a lot. And I imposed on you. And- No, please, don't say it's not true, because it is. But... I was thinking, that I could stay here for a while? If you don't mind? I- I have- I mean, I like your company? And, uh, yeah...” he trailed off, awkward and unsure.

Joe's heart beat furiously in his chest. For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming, and he subtly pinched his belly with his unoccupied hand. Minutes ago he'd been feeling philosophical, contemplating the lack of justice in the world, the presence of cruel individuals, the suffering of many people; now he was holding he man he knew without doubt he loved, and said man was actually asking to live here with him.

How could it be possible?

But no, no, he pinched himself twice, _hard_ , and still Nicky was there, warm and alive and soft in his arms, where he fit like he was born for it. His hair was ticklish against is cheek, and this wasn't a dream. This, unbalievably, was real.

_How is it imaginable, that such a bad day could end so perfectly?_

“I'd be happy, if you stayed. Real happy. If you wanted,” he replied with a low murmur full of emotion.

Nicky moved a bit and turned his head. In the darkness of the room, Joe could make out his nose and the line of his lips, raised upward completely; not just a tiny bit, not just the corners, but one hundred percent grinning. It was the first real, big smile Nicky'd graced him with since he'd come here. It was the first real, big smile Nicky'd shared with anyone in _months_.

Sure, there had been a few smirks in the past days, some hints of it, but never had it looked so genuine. Joe grinned back.

“Me, too.”

If that smile was what he got in exchange for one of the worst days of his life, then he would be glad to wake up the next morning and re-live all that shit once more, exactly like that.

“We could put it on a shelf, you know?” he said out of nothing, almost in afterthought.

“Hmm?” Nicky sounded sleepy. “What?”

“The picture. Once your friend sends it back to you.”

“Oh. _Oh_. Yes, that'd be great. And you could help me choose a new frame for it? You've got a good eye for things like that.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Joe murmured with a happy sigh.

“Thank you, Joe.”

“Anytime, Nicky. Anytime.”

He could feel his eyes drooping, his head growing heavier by the second, his nose comfortably warm against Nicky's nape. His breath evened, and he fell asleep.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nicky awoke with a start. One moment, he was sleeping. The next, he was fully awake and totally aware of his surroundings.

He was in the living room, laying on the sofa. Joe, behind him, hadn't moved a muscle since he'd fallen asleep the night before, and was still in the land of the dreaming. He could feel puffs of hot breath rhythmically warm his neck. The room was mostly dark, and the building sounded calm; the rush hour was clearly over, most people had already left their apartments to begin the new working week, and only a few of them were still at home. Nicky had had a good few weeks to adjust and get used to the noises of the buildings, staying in the empty apartment while Joe was at the office.

He glanced at the clock. It was almost nine; they'd fallen asleep about five hours before, as far as he could tell.

The previous night came back to his mind in full force and completely clear in his memories. He could distinctly recall each moment, every word, all the little gestures. And it felt good. _It felt good_.

 _What does this say about me?_ , Nicky thought. _I was in a committed relationship just a few weeks ago. Now I'm sleeping next to another man. Am I really a whore like Steven kept saying?_

He shook his head banishing the thought as soon as it came. He reminded himself that he _had been_ in a relationship, but he _was not_ anymore. He had every right to do as he felt, and nobody should judge him for it. And this? This felt right. This felt like-

_Like those first few months with Steven. When he'd been caring and loving. Are you going to destroy everything once more? With Joe?_

Nicky frowned, lips a flat line on his face, nostrils flaring.

His mind frequently played tricks like that to him. Often, it spoke with Steven's voice. Sometimes, it was Nicky's own. He didn't know why his brain worked like that, against him, making everything more difficult than it was. It liked to wander, to bring back old memories which should've been best forgotten, and to taunt him, provoking and tricking. It seemed to be his worst enemy, sometimes, and it liked to instill doubts and focus on everything bad that could happen. That's why he couldn't wait for tomorrow, to get back to the office and have something to focus on.

But, for now, he had to stay calm. He couldn't, _couldn't_ freak out. Joe didn't deserve it, he had done nothing to warrant such a reaction from him, but being the wonderful person he was, Nicky knew that he would berate himself, that he would feel guilty. And that was unacceptable.

He took a deep breath. Held it in for five seconds, let it out in seven.

He had promised himself yesterday, after all the crying and despairing, that he was done with feeling sorry for himself, that he would do his best to move forward from now on.

He took another deep breath. Held it in for five seconds, let it out in seven. Repeated the action twice more.

_What will my friends think of me? That I'm using him? That this is all a farce and I-_

“I can hear you think. Please stop, it's too early,” Joe mumbled.

Nicky, just hearing the sound of his voice, heavy with sleep and so warm, smiled. The choking knot of anguish that had risen in his belly loosened.

“It's not that early. It's a quarter past nine,” Nicky replied, just for the sake of playfully jabbing, while trying to distract himself and steer his mind from the path it had been walking down for the past minutes.

Joe huffed a laugh. “Yeah, and we fell asleep not that long ago.” He yawned. “My feet are freezing.”

Nicky snorted. “I know. I can feel it through the socks I'm wearing.”

Joe squeaked, burying his face between Nicky's shoulder blades, and he blushed. _How could that man be so cute?_

“I really don't understand how you can say that this sofa's comfy. My back feels like jelly.”

Joe groaned. “Yeah, mine too.”

He tightened the hold on Nicky's chest, and Nicky let himself be pulled back against him. It was startling, and terrific, how this all felt good and intimate, not awkward in the slightest.

“So, are we gonna get up and have breakfast?” he asked.

Joe buried his head against Nicky's shoulder blades. “Five more minutes?”

Nicky moved his arm and, awkward as the position was, managed to find Joe's head and brush his curls away from his face. He couldn't see what he was doing from this position, so he hoped he wasn't poking him in the nose or the eye in the process, but Joe sighed blissfully, and that _had_ to mean something.

“Alright. But tomorrow, we sleep in the bedroom,” he muttered, blushing furiously. He hoped, he _prayed_ , that he wasn't being too greedy, that Joe wouldn't think badly of him, that his words wouldn't be misinterpreted. Hoe could he somehow always find the most embarrassing phrasings?

He felt Joe's lips stretch against his skin in a smile.

“That's a deal,” Joe said blissfully and untroubled.

_Now if only I could be that carefree, too..._

  
  


* * *

  
  


Joe observed Nicky as he washed the dishes in the sink. He was calm, he thought. Content. He liked to see him like that. Sometimes though it seemed as if a shadow passed over his face, but it was always gone withing a few minutes. Nicky clearly had something on his mind, something he was working through. Joe left him to elaborate his thoughts, respecting his need for time and privacy, yet he needed to make sure that Nicky knew that, if necessary, Joe was there for him.

He walked up to the Italian, careful to let his presence be known, and put an hand on his arm. They seemed to have finally reached a nice level of easiness and closeness around each other, but still he knew better than to rush things. He had to be mindful; Nicky's trauma wouldn't disappear just like that, after some hand-holding and a night spent sleeping ogether on the sofa, or only because he'd finally closed things with his ex and retrieved his own stuff. He knew that there was still a long road ahead of them, so Nicky should be the one to set the pace, for now.

Nicky turned him head and smiled at him.

“Need help?”

Nicky shook his head in silent denial. He titlted his head so that his face was resting against Joe's as he mechanically kept washing.

Ever since they'd properly got up from the sofa, Nicky'd not spoken a lot, but Joe could read him enough by now to know that his silence wasn't one to be too worried about. If anything, it spoke volumes of him feeling safe enough to take his own time to think things through even when Joe was there. Which, as far as he was concerned, was really great. It meant that Nicky trusted him for real, he believed.

The man he was holding was so, so different, from the Nicky who'd come here almost a month ago. He was also much different from the man he'd been before that for a very long time. It amazed Joe, how much he had already progressed.

Joe pushed his face in the junction of Nicky's neck and shoulder.

“What are you thinking?” Nicky's voice breached his thoughts.

“That I look forward to us both going back to work tomorrow, and that _this_ is... good. That I like it,” Joe spoke quietly, his cheeks reddening for sure.

Nicky glanced at him, the corners of his lips tilted upward. Joe grinned like a maniac. He felt as if he was going to explode from happiness, if that was even possible, like he could raise a trunk with his bare hands and like he could land a triple axel while ice skating blindfolded.

_Okay, well, maybe that's a tad too hyperbolic..._

Still. The point remained.

 _This_ was whatever they had, obviously. It wasn't something formally labeled and as far as he was concerned, Joe didn't feel like putting an identifying tag on it. It wasn't needed, for one instance, and whatever _this_ was, it wasn't mature enough to be formalized in any way. It wouldn't feel right.

“What do you think the others will say?” Nicky asked suddenly, his voice a bit smaller now, clearly unsure, even if he couldn't fathom why.

“About what?” Joe asked, clueless.

Nicky looked at him sharply, one eyebrow raised, and tilted his chin toward him, then down to point at himself.

_Oh!_

Joe shrugged. The thought had not crossed his mind, so far. “Nothing, I guess. But they'll be happy as long as you are, so I think it's going to be okay. Also, they won't know until you tell them, so that's a plus. And it's not like this needs to be publicized.”

“ _We,_ ” Nicky immediately said with a frown.

“Uh?”

“If _we_ are happy. And if _we_ tell them. Not _I_.”

Joe smiled, radiant and so, so euphoric. “Yeah. Yeah, you're totally right.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nicky brushed his teeth in front of the tiny bathroom mirror, leaning slightly over the sink. The repetitive motion filled him with a sense of calmness that was a blessing right now. His nerves were stretched thin and he felt like he could snap at every moment. In a little over nine hours he would be back at work, but before that, he was going to sleep once more next to Joe. The man had looked at him with expectant eyes and Nicky had been only all too eager to wordlessly grab his sleeve and tilt his head meaningfully toward the bedroom as Joe let out another loud yawn.

He was excited, scared, elated and anxious all at the same time. He couldn't precisely pinpoint the cause of each of those emotions, but the heart of the matter, he thought, was his feeling that he was rushing things a bit, which could be dangerous, and he didn't want to lose Joe. Not now. Not ever.

Up until a few weeks ago he had been doing his best to squish his crush for the man, convincing himself at every opportunity that his was only admiration for Joe, friendly affection, camaraderie at sharing the workplace. Since then, he'd made peace with himself and admitted that his feelings ran much more deeper than that. Even more, he'd actually initiated a physical contact that had been received with happiness by Joe himself, who'd seemed only too willing to reciprocate with his own offer just last night. And what a wonderful night it had been indeed, in its simplicity, laying side by side, talking, holding each other. Nicky couldn't ask for more (and maybe, if he was honest with himself, he feared that _that_ could be a problem too. What did Joe want? What did he expect? What if it was more than Nicky felt comfortable giving?).

His affection for Joe was deep, and he wouldn't hesitate to privately acknowledge it as _love_. The key word, there, being _privately_.

_What if Joe expects something more from me, and I'm incapable – unwilling – of giving it to him? What if I fail him?_

Nicky spit the toothpaste and shook his head. He grabbed the towel from its hanger and passed it on his face, holding it against his closed eyes. He took a deep breath, and shook his head.

He was doubting Joe, but why? Joe had never given him a reason to. Ever since he'd known him, he'd demonstrated to be a man with a heart of gold, and ever since he'd come to live here, Joe had been supportive, kind, ready to land a helping hand at every opportunity. Not once he'd had a bad word for Nicky, not once he'd made him feel like a mere guest. So what was so scary now? What was it what Nicky feared so much?

 _That I'm not good enough for him_ , he admitted to himself. _That he'll see what a mess I am and will finally understand that I'm too much to handle, that I'm not worth it. Then he'll leave, and I will have really lost everything._

Nicky took a deep breath, fortifying himself. He was hiding in the bathroom like a child from a bully at school, and that was an insult to Joe to say the least. He had no logical reason for his anxiety; Nicky had to compose himself, walk out of there and see how things went. There was no other option, at this point. Either everything would be alright, or not.

He put down the towel, switched off the light and closed the door behind himself, walking into the bedroom. On the mattress where Nicky's been sleeping for so many nights now, underneath fresh blankets they had changed just that morning, was Joe, half sitting against the headboard and staring at the screen of his cellphone. As he heard Nicky approach, he turned off the device and scooted sat at the edge of the bed, smiling.

“Hey there,” he said, face open and welcoming. “Everything alright? You were in there for a while.”

His tone bore no accusation, but Nicky lowered his gaze. “Sorry. I got... distracted.”

Joe reached out his hand and gently took Nicky's wrist in his. Gently, he pulled him toward the bed and had him sit down next to him.

“Don't apologize,” he said with a frown. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Sorry. Just tired, I guess.”

Joe studied him intensely. “Nicky...” he called his name with the tone of someone who knew that a part of the truth was being mitted, and Nicky blushed.

“I promise that I am really okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Nicky sighed. Why was it so difficult to lie to Joe, even if only by omission, and only in order to spare him any more worries?

_Because you really care about him, dumbass. And he cares about you too. Don't throw away this chance. Talk to him!_

“I am a bit... anxious,” Nicky conceded. “But not because of you. And not for anything you did, either,” he hastily added. He _needed_ that to be clear.

Joe's fingers gently squeezed his wrist, then he let it go and his arm found its way around Nicky's shoulders. Nicky buried himself a little against Joe's side, as much as he could. Their builds were almost identical, and Nicky was only slightly leaner, so ne couldn't exactly tuck himself against Joe's side like he wanted to.

“It's okay,” Joe said gently in a low voice. His other hand cupped Nicky's cheek, and their eyes met. “Do you want me to sleep on the sofa? Would that help you feel better?”

“No! No, stay here. With me.” Nicky's heart thumped furiously against his ribs at the perspective of Joe leaving.

Joe himself only smiled and nodded. “Sure. I'll stay,” he agreed. His dark eyes, a rich chocolate color that was always so alive, so full of emotions, so mesmerizing, were kind and understanding. “What can I do to help you, Nicky?”

He shook his head minutely. “I don't know. I don't know why I'm acting like this. Just... let's lay down, I guess? Like yesterday?”

“That, we can do. Do you want to be near the wall, or near the edge of the bed?” Joe asked with a patient smile.

Nicky, who so far had not given a conscious thought about the matter, found now that the subject was indeed one of the causes of his anxieties in the first place. “The edge,” he immediately replied. “If that's alright with you.”

“Sure, it's fine either way,” Joe agreed, scooting back and underneath the covers, without letting go of Nicky and actually coaxing him to lay down himself.

Nicky adjusted the covers around his shoulders and shifted on his side, facing Joe, even if having the room behind himself made him feel uneasy.

“Better, now?” Joe asked.

Nicky searched for his hand under the covers, and when he found it, he squeezed it. “Yes, actually. Thank you.”

“Don't thank me, Nicky. Never.”

“I feel like I need to, though. You're way more patient with me than I deserve.”

“Uh-uh. Nope, that's not true. You deserve that and so much more, you have no idea,” Joe replied, making him blush. “Do you still feel anxious? Do you want me to make some chamomile tea?”

“No, it's fine. As long as we stay like this, I think I'll be okay,” Nicky replied sincerely. Then, a thought occurred to him. “Are you okay with this, though?”

“Totally.” Joe regaled him a big, sunny smile. “Do you want to talk about what triggered you?”

Nicky shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I don't know exactly, myself. Just, I think, my insecurities.” He felt embarrassed at admitting it out loud, but Joe had asked, and Joe had never once judged him so far. Nicky felt that he could try to trust him, that Joe deserved at least his sincerity.

“Nicky, you know that we don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with, right? We can sleep side by side if that's what you want, and we don't have to do anything more than that. You'll always be welcome to stay here, there are no conditions to that, or to out friendship, or to... to this.”

Nicky let out a breath, nodding. “I know, Joe. But thank you, for saying it. I think that I need it, sometimes. To be reminded of that.”

“Then I'll do my best to never have you forget it,” Joe murmured.

Never breaking eye contact, he moved their joined hands upwards, to his lips, and chastely kissed Nicky's knuckles. Nicky blushed, then freed his had from Joe's hold and udes it to caress his face, his beard, those magnificent and soft curls.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Well, look who the cat dragged in!” Quynh exclaimed as she saw Nicky standing next to his desk.

He had elected to get in early, for his first day back, and Joe had decided to accompany him; he was now in his office, while Nicky found himself with an armful of Quynh. He patted her shoulder when she pushed her face in his chest.

“Hi Quynh. I'm happy to see you.” And he was, indeed. He'd slept soundly next to Joe, waking up with his back against his chest, rejuvenated and rested, ready to get back to his daily routine.

“And I'm happy you're back. God, I missed you Nicky! This place's not worth working in without you here,” she declared quite loudly, winking mischievously.

From his office, Joe made an indignant sound of protest. “Hey! That's not fair. I was here and I'm great company.”

“Life's not fair, dear. You should know that. And you don't make great company when you spend half your time bickering about _football_ of all things with Booker,” Quynh stated flatly, and Nicky laughed.

“It's not my fault! My team lost again Quynh, and that heartless French likes to rub it in my face. That's cruel. He's a sadist!”

“And you're an overgrown child,” she snapped with finality.

Nicky hid his snickering behind a cough.

“I see you're doing okay, you look relaxed,” he said with a smile.

“Yes, I really am. I passed the annual quality inspection last Friday with flying colors, so I guess I'll have a slow week for once.”

“Hey, congrats, Quynh! I'm sorry I forgot about it. I should've called you to ask how it went,” he said with genuine regret; how could he have misssed that, he couldn't fathom.

Quynh made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Nah, don't worry about it! You had your own things to take care to, it's alright.”

“Still, I'm sorry. But you were great as usual, I had no doubt you would've made it.”

“Yeah, yeah, let's congratulate Quynh and completely forget about her assistant who prepared half the required documents while balancing double her usual workload,” Nile exclaimed, stifling a yawn behind her hand as she walked into the room.

Nicky chuckled.

“Nice to see you too, Nile. Late night yesterday?” he asked, as she too came to hug him. He hugged her back.

“Ugh, dude, you've no idea.”

“Ohhhh! You had some fun?” Quynh, the company's gossip-queen, asked with a maniac grin, raising her eyebrows exaggeratedly.

Nile frowned. “I wish. No, I was busy writing a paper I had totally forgotten about.”

Nicky grimaced in sympathy, remembering the many all-nighters he'd pulled back when he too had been a student who spent half his days working. Not for the first time, he wondered if he would still be able to do it; probably not, he guessed with a shrug.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Boring,” Quynh declared with finality, nose upturned as if the mere idea disdained her. “You should have more fun. Did I ever tell you that I actually met Andy at a party during my first year as an exchange student?” she asked, linking her arm with Nile's and pulling her in the corridor and towards the office they shared. She was so busy recounting the tale – for the thousandth time – that she completely missed the eye-roll Nile sent Nicky's way. He gave her a thumb up and she scoffed.

Shaking his head fondly, Nicky turned back to his desk and the piles of files and papers stacked there. There was fortunately an order that Andy and Nile had followed during his absence, but they had obviously adopted their own method with differed from his one, so he still had to sort through it all.

Nicky sat down, and pulled a sheet of paper almost completely covered in Andy's messy writing toward himself. As he had hoped, it was a list of all the requests for quotations they had received, their deadlines, indications of the proposals they had managed to emit and of the progress of the ones still to be sent to the Clients. There was also a side column with a list of recent proposals Nicky had prepared and sent before taking his leave of absence with indications of feedbacks they had received from the Clients: some had awarded their company the purchase order, others had requested a revision in order to reach a technical alignment, and a few had awarded the order to their competitors for reasons Nicky would have to discover, in order to be more competitive the next time – it was important to know if a potential job was lost due to economical reasons (their offer being too expensive) or to other factors (delivery terms not in compliance with the Clients' requests, etc.).

 _Yes,_ he thought, _the list was a good point to start._

He took a deep breath, and smiled.

This felt like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to clarify one point, very shortly: Nicky does love Joe. There is no doubt about that. But after all he went through, and considering the relationship with Merrick had officially only ended now, he obviously feels insecure. He wants to be with Joe, but he fears losing him. He wants to be with him, but there are certain steps he's not ready to take. It's understandable. He had doubts and keeps second-guessing himself, and it causes him anxiety. But, please, don't think that Nicky is only using Joe, or that he doesn't really love him, because it's the exact opposite.
> 
> The next chapter will be up in 2/3 weeks. I have to write it and, more importantly, I need to decide whether I want to add a separate epilogue or not. There are certain themes which I feel are very important and which I want to talk about, but I know that I won't have the time to write about them and condense an ending all into the same final installment. Be patient, please :)
> 
> Let me know your thoughts, here below of on tumblr (icedrifter.tumblr.com).


	8. Don't judge yourself by what others did to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody.
> 
> First of all, I wish to fervently apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. There are a lot of reasons for it, which I will explain in the end notes for those of you who might be interested in knowing why it took me so long to update. But I don't want to make you lose any more time, so I will leave you to the chapter immediately.
> 
> I also want to thank all of you who left comments so far. I swear that I have read all of them. Some, I have yet to write a reply to, not because I didn't regard them as important, but for the exact opposite: I felt that some comments needed well-articulated answers, which I had great difficulty composing (once again, read the ending notes if you wish to know why).  
> All your lovely reviews, though, are what gave me the push to sit down and write, delate, and write once again. So, really, thank you!
> 
> One last note: as you can see, there's still one chapter to go. It will be the epilogue, composed of various scenes and slices of life to close the this story and the threads whose ends are still loose, but I actually plan to make this work into a series to add snippets here and there as inspiration strikes.

Joe's alarm clock awoke them both from their peaceful sleep. In front of him, Nicky growled, grumbled something that sounded completely incoherent but could've simply been Italian for all he knew, and pulled the covers over his face. Joe huffed a chuckle at his antics and kissed his neck, then proceeded to stretch his limbs so much that his shoulder actually popped.

“Ouch.”

“Mhhh, be careful,” Nicky muttered, eyes still closed.

They were tangled up in Joe's bed, as it had become their routine in the past couple of months. No matter how they fell asleep – laying side by side or facing each other – when they awoke, Nicky always had his back against Joe's chest and was facing the door. Joe knew that it made him feel subconsciously safe, and he loved the feeling of awakening in the same position as the first time they had shared a bed. Or, better yet, a sofa.

As always, he pulled Nicky closer and buried his face in his hair.

“They're quite long,” he muttered in the strands.

“Mhh? What's long?”

“Your hair.”

“Do you want me to cut them?”

“Hell no.”

Nicky giggled and shifted a bit, he seemed a bit more awake now. His hands found Joe's and his fingers tapped on his knuckles as he made a motion to pull back from him. Joe let him go with a grumble of non-verbal protest.

“Sorry. I really need to pee,” Nicky apologized sheepishly.

He got up, still in his oversized t-shirt and basketball shorts, and padded to the door. Joe watched him go, content, smiling like a fool, then he shifted on his back and pressed the heels of his hands in his eyes. He _loved_ Saturday mornings. Actually, he loved _every_ morning since he got to wake up next to Nicky And he loved every night, when he got to fall asleep holding such a lovely man in his arms, which also happened every day.

 _I'm the luckiest man in the world_.

Still, Saturday mornings were the best. They usually didn't even bother with the alarm clock, instead waking up at whatever time happened to be of convenience, and always spent a good half hour enjoying each other's closeness in the warmth of their bed.

Joe would never, ever understand how that Merrick fucker could have had someone this gorgeous and this precious, and managed to lose it, to chase it away. It was incomprehensible. Joe cherished every instant he spent with Nicky, Joe cherished _Nicky,_ and even then it didn't feel enough. Nicky deserved the world and even more.

“I really love you,” he whispered in the empty room.

Nicky was moving in the kitchen now, fixing up a breakfast for them both, no doubt. This particular Saturday morning, they didn't have a lot of time to spare. Joe really should get up and go help him, but instead he indulged a bit longer in bed, letting his thoughts float and flow as they pleased.

They had not yet said the L word, so far. Joe had it on the tip of his tongue every time he kissed Nicky – which was something they'd been doing only for the past couple of weeks, but even that was progress and Joe would never press the other man in any way – but he was too afraid to say it out loud. He didn't want to scare Nicky away. Still, nothing forbade him to say it clearly and soundly when he was alone, or to silently but profusely share his feeling with Nicky when they held each other.

A delicious smell of coffee and freshly heated croissants reached his nose. Once Nicky had made them from scratch, and ever since, the congealed ones they bought from the store had lost their appeal; still, it was too much work to do every time they fancied them for breakfast.

With a groan, Joe got up, pulled on his socks, and padded to the kitchen. And there Nicky indeed was, his back to Joe, retrieving a couple of mugs from the cupboards.

 _I really, really love him_.

Nicky turned, smiling. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Joe stood behind him, then reached out for the cup Nicky was holding for him, and he draped himself all over the Italian's back as he inhaled the divine aroma of the blend his mother had sent him a couple of days ago. They had elected on trying it during the weekend, when they actually had time enough to enjoy it. Joe adored it and had no doubt that Nicky would, too.

“Oh, God,” Nicky moaned obscenely, in a way that made a non indifferent portion of Joe's blood rush southward. He shifted a bit, angling himself in a way that wouldn't be embarrassing, and willed himself to think of everything but how Nicky looked with his eyes half closed and his pink lips slightly parted in blissful ecstasy.

 _That_ was also a point they had yet to reach, any sort of sexual intimacy. It wasn't like they weren't two fully physically functioning adults, so really morning woods weren't unheard of. But the first time Nicky had awoken with one, he'd excused himself to the bathroom to take care of it before Joe's brain could catch up to the situation at hand (much to his total dissatisfaction); and the first time it had happened to Joe, Nicky had been a tad too quick to move away, a bit too urgent in his movements to give Joe room enough to get up and follow his example, too. He had been subtle yet quite clear in his hints. The topic had not been approached, even if it was driving Joe completely mad.

Still, it was clearly something the Italian wasn't ready for, and Joe would never force him to do anything he didn't feel completely on board with. Especially not something like that, no matter how aching he was some mornings, how vivid his dreams could sometimes be. He would wait for Nicky to be ready and willing.

So, it was with a certain amount of difficulty and yet with a placated soul that he shifted his body away from Nicky, in order to put some distance between them and avoid any awkward or disquieting situation.

“Good, uh?” he asked now, kicking his mind away from those very unhelpful thoughts and memories. The fact that his voice sounded gravelly to his own ears didn't escape Nicky's notice, he was sure.

“The best I've ever tried,” the Italian replied with sincerity.

“I know, right? My mom sends it to me every few months. It's hella expensive, but she won't take a no for an answer.”

“Thank her from me when you call her today. I think I've just reached paradise.”

Joe laughed; his traitorous mind was quick to conjure up other images of what Joe personally regarded as paradise, but he hid his blush behind the rim of his cup as he took another sip of the dark hot liquid.

_What the hell's gotten into you? Stop acting like a hormonal seventeen year old! You're ridiculous._

“So, you're still going to the office ?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah. I'll try to be back mid-afternoon, but I can't promise I'll make it.”

“Nah, don't worry. You do what you have to.”

“Still, we won't spend lunch together,” Nicky said, mournfully. “Will you be alright on your own?”

Joe couldn't help himself. He laughed, delighted. “Nicky, I promise I won't starve if you don't cook for me for for one day. I actually managed on my own for a long time, despite my admittedly poor culinary skills.”

Nicky flushed bright red in embarrassment, the tip of his ears on fire. “Sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”

“Ah, I know, don't worry,” Joe said with a smile, waving away the apology and kissing Nicky's neck. “And I'll be the first to admit my diet has improved greatly thanks to you.”

“I'm not that good a cook, Joe.”

“Yes you are!” Joe retorted, kissing him once more. “Even my mother says I lately look much better than I did before, which actually means that I don't look starved or simply that she doesn't see any more pizza boxes stacked behind me during our calls. Hey, you're not trying to fatten me up, are you?” he joked.

Nicky laughed, his hand finding Joe's chest and patting his abs. “Definitely not,” he said with a smirk. “Though she's right. You can't eat healthily when you live out of take-away food and pizzas.”

Joe groaned and raised his hands in a gesture of desperate protest. “I did _not_ eat only take away and pizza!” At Nicky's raised eyebrow, he went on. “I can actually make a mean sandwich, you know?” Nicky snorted and shook his head; Joe chuckled. “Yeah, alright, alright. I'll concede that you're not wrong.”

“Thanks,” Nicky laughed.

“You'd totally get along with my mother if you met her,” Joe said without thinking.

His jaw dropped as his words made their way through the synapses of his brain, and he was ready to make a joke to cover up his slip, but Nicky didn't look the least bothered by it.

“I'd _love_ to meet her,” he replied before taking the croissants out of the oven, casually and carefree, leaving Joe speechless for a moment, utterly surprised.

“Really?” he asked a bit dumbly, as the aroma of their breakfast invaded the whole kitchenette.

Nicky took the chocolate one and blew on it to cool it down faster, then took a bite.

“Sure,” he shrugged, as if it was not a big deal. And maybe it wasn't, and Joe was only reading too much into it, he didn't really know what had gotten into him today, but Nicky's affirmation made him feel jubilant.

“Oh,” Joe replied, clearing his throat. “That's... nice. They might actually decide to come here for a short holiday since I won't be going to Jerusalem.”

Joe's holiday's plans had blown up in his face when his father's sister, aunt Sama, had been diagnosed with cancer. She was now undergoing treatment but the weekly chemo had more than one side effect, leaving her weak and unable to stay on her own for too long, not having the necessary energy to cook her own meals and take care of anything more than her own basic necessities. Her brother Omar – Joe's father – and her other sister, aunt Parvin, were taking turns to stay with her during the day, looking over her and keeping her company, one week each. Given the subdued overall atmosphere in the family, Joe had elected to postpone his trip to better days, but his parents had dropped a few hints about coming to London to see him for a weekend as soon as possible.

Joe hadn't talked about this to Nicky so far, but now the Italian turned to look at him, smiling. “Really? That's so nice, you much all be excited. How's your aunt, by the way?”

“We are, yeah,” Joe replied, still a bit dazed by all that casualness. “And she's doing fine so far. She's a strong woman and they diagnosed it in the early stages, so we're all optimistic.”

Nicky nodded. “That's great, Joe. I'm so glad to hear it,” he said. He gulped down the last bit of his coffee, and put the mug in the sink, fishing underneath it for the sponge to clean. “Are you going to work on your art today?”

“Definitely!”

“You'll show me when it's all finished, right?”

“Of course I will,” Joe said, turning to kiss Nicky's cheek.

“Good. I can't wait. Won't you give me the slightest hint of what it is you're working on?”

“Nope!”

Nicky huffed, and Joe sniggered.

He reached out and took it out of his hand.

“Don't worry about it, I'll wash it. You go get ready before it gets late and Andy starts blaring the horn like a savage. She'll be here in ten.”

“She would totally do it,” Nicky snorted, because that was really something Andy wouldn't hesitate to do, completely disregarding the quietness of the neighborhood on a Saturady morning when most people elected to sleep in and take it easy. Then, he sobered up. “Wait, did you just say she'll be here in _ten_?!”

Joe looked at the clock. “In nine, actually.”

“Shit!”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The morning and first half of the afternoon went by in a blink of the eye as Nicky and Andy joined forces to prepare and submit a particularly urgent request for quotation by a Russian refinery nearby Omsk. They worked ruthlessly and efficiently and, when finally the technical and commercial proposals were done, they elected to go grab a bite at their usual diner, today half-full with families and couples coming and going from the nearby park to enjoy their Saturday, before Andy dropped off Nicky at Joe's place.

“So, how's it going?” she asked around a mouthful of her hamburger.

A bit of BBQ sauce slowly made its way down her chin but the kept on eating, careless. At the table next to theirs, a distinguished mother of three stared at her, horrified. Nicky snorted as Andy finally wiped away the trail of red liquid, using the back of her hand instead of her napkin. The blond mother actually covered her youngest daughter's eyes. Andy slurped her smoothie loudly, in retaliation.

“You're doing it on purpose, aren't you?” he muttered with an only half-hearted scowl.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked with faux innocence, not bothering to swallow before opening her mouth.

The woman looked on the verge of fainting, and Nicky did his best not to choke on his own pizza bite of grilled cheese.

“Stop it. You're gonna kill her.”

“Serves her right. Teaches her to stare at other people and make comments on their aspect. Like she's fucking Madonna or something.”

“I think Madonna might be in her sixties now and made more of plastic than real flesh, actually.”

“No shit. She was old when I was a kid,” Andy deadpanned. “And I don't have a pound of plastic in me, either. Thank you so much. All this?” she gestured at herself. “Natural beauty, darling.”

“I know. Mother nature was very generous with you. Quynh's a lucky woman.”

“No, _I'm_ the lucky one in our couple,” Andy replied with a sweet softness to her words that made Nicky genuinely smile.

Andy, for all her oddities and peculiarities, was as much of a romantic as she always accused Joe of being. She never passed an opportunity to shower Quynh with affection or to make clear how enamored she was with her wife. Nicky wondered if Joe would do the same for him; he had no doubt that he, for himself, would.

“Speaking of couples,” Andy asked in a sing-song voice, with a new glint in her eyes that immediately worried Nicky.

“What about them?”

“Is there something you wish to share with the class, Nicky?”

He gulped and almost killed himself when the mouthful he swallowed went down the wrong pipe. His eyes watered as he threw back a glass of water. All the while, Andy was happy to beatifucally smile at him with a wolfish grin, chin resting on her jointed hands since she'd already finished her late lunch, probably aiming for innocent and angelic while really looking like the goddess of mischief personified.

“No...?” he trailed off, voice slightly rough after coughing.

Andy only smirked more. “Are you _sure_?”

 _How?_ , Nicky could only think, slightly amused, mostly panicked. _How does she know?_

Joe and him had mutually agreed on keeping their relationship to themselves, for more than one reason. Of course his friends knew that they still lived together at Joe's, after all they came and went from work together every day, had dinner with the rest of the team on Friday nights and always arrived on Joe's car, but Nicky didn't think that their new status was all that obvious. They were never affectionate in a telling way – never held hands, never kissed. Often they didn't even sit next to one another.

So how could Andy know? Was it because he was still at Joe's and had not found his own new apartment in all these months? Or maybe they simply weren't as subtle as they thought. After all, Nicky had to admit that when he looked at Joe he _had_ to physically force himself not to stare like a dumb fish, not to smile like a poor fool. And what if the others had noticed it, too?

The fear of coming out as a freeloader, using Joe only for his own selfish interests, or as a bit of a whore, resurfaced in full force; it had accompanied him for days when they had first shared Joe's bed, but with the passing weeks it had dimmed and was reduced to almost nothing. Until now.

“Hey,” Andy's voice interrupted his swirling thoughts; her hand reached out to Nicky's. “It's alright. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.”

Nicky raised his mostly empty glass of water to his lips. Dismayed, he noticed that his hand was shaking. Why was it shaking?

“You didn't. Really.”

“Uh-uh. Sure.” Andy raised an eyebrow, blatantly disregarding his lie for what it was.

Nicky sighed. There was no point in keeping up the farce. Andy knew, and he respected her too much to lie to her anymore.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“Aside from the fact that you kept messaging with him while we waited for our food to arrive with the biggest smile I've ever seen on your face, you mean?”

Nicky gaped at her, appalled. “Andy, that's my phone. You can't just look at it, it's private!”

“Nicky, honey, I don't know if you noticed, but you're using the company-issued phone,” she stated, eyebrow mockingly raised.

Nicky looked at his right, where the phone was innocently sitting next to he edge of the table, and it indeed wasn't his personal device.

“Dammit.”

“Yup,” she joyously popped the final _p_. “And I doubt you've got something going on with any of our clients or suppliers. I know we can rule out Nile, Booker wouldn't be interested unless when completely wasted, and even then I'm not so sure about it, and well I don't even need to say why I didn't even consider Quynh to begin with.”

Nicky shook his head mutely.

“So, are you happy?” Andy asked, sobering up.

Nicky nodded. All of a sudden, words were failing him.

“Yes,” he finally managed to croak out.

Andy nodded once. “Good. That's all that matters to me,” she said with a smile.

“Aren't you upset that I didn't tell you? Because Joe had no problems with it, it was me who asked him to wait,” he was quick to explain; Nicky wouldn't want for his friends to hold a grudge at Joe because of something Nicky asked him to do.

“Upset? God, Nicky, no! Why would I be?”

“Because you're not only my boss. You're my friend. All of you.”

“And you're mine, which means I will respect your need for privacy and for time,” Andy grimaced. “I was only joking you know, when I asked you to share with the class. It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable by speaking about it. Otherwise I wouldn't have even approached the subject to begin with.”

Nicky nodded. He felt dumb for acting this way. He didn't even know _why_ he was acting like that in the first place.

“I know. I over-reacted. As usual,” he said with a frown. He felt so disappointed in himself.

Andy patted his hand comfortingly. “You didn't. After all you went through, you need time. As I said, I shouldn't have ambushed you like that. I didn't really stop to think about it, to be honest – so, yeah, sorry. But I'm very happy for you both. Joe's pining was becoming painful to watch.”

Nicky's eyes widened. “Pining? After me?”

Andy rolled her eyes.

“No, the postman,” she deadpanned. “Yes, you, Nicky. Please, tell me that you noticed.”

“I did,” he stammered. “But I assumed that, you know, I was wrong? I mean, of all the people, why me? I was a total mess.”

Andy sighed, long suffering. She rubbed her temples. “For the same reasons you love him, I guess.”

“He's special. Funny, clever, beautiful. Sensible. Talented. I... am not.”

“Are too,” Andy said in all seriousness. “Joe wouldn't fall just for anybody. Only a pretty face wouldn't be enough for him.”

Nicky blushed. Moments ago they were laughing about the snotty woman sitting at the table on their left, now they were having this conversation here, of all places. He and Andy, not the most sensitive person he'd had the pleasure to meet if he were honest, were talking romance. On a Saturady afternoon, in a diner.

“Sometimes I can't believe that it's real,” he admitted. “I'm afraid that I'll wake up and it will be all a dream. I'll open my eyes and Steven will be the one next to me.”

Andy's mouth flattened in a thin pale line. Her dark blue eyes flashed at the mention of his ex boyfriend. By now, Nicky was long past the stage of denial; he had admitted, acknowledged and accepted what Steven had really done to him, if only to himself, but they all knew, too. He was aware of it, and of what he'd let himself be subjected to. It made him feel a painful mix of ire and regret, of sadness and discontentment.

“But he isn't. Joe's the one you see every morning.”

She was right, of course. Nicky knew it. Still he didn't feel reassured. Something had been nagging at him for a while.

“I can't do anything physical with him, you know?” Nicky blurted out.

He didn't know where this came from; or, better yet, he _knew_ where it came from, but not why now, of all moments. Only, all of a sudden, the words were tumbling out of his mouth. Why now? Why with Andy and not with, for example, Booker, which would made the topic less awkward at least? Why with his dearest friend when Joe would've been the right person to discuss this particular subject with, and probably happier to lend his ear to him?

He couldn't stop staring at the table top, which felt safer than looking her in the eye, but he couldn't stop taking either, now. This specific issue had been eating at him for far too long. So with a choked voice and a beet red face, he tried to elaborate – because his problem wasn't _physical_ , everything worked perfectly fine on that front, thank you very much, but it felt like an invisible barrier was holding him back.

“I can't, you know, go any further thank kissing. I don't even have the courage to try... anything else. I could. But yet, I just can't.”

What he said probably didn't make much sense, in all honesty, but that was the best he could do. Andy was looking at him, he knew, he could feel the weight of her gaze on him. He was blushing furiously, ashamed and embarrassed like when he was fifteen and found himself subtly stealing glances at Marco in the locker room before soccer practice, or nineteen and confessing his orientation to his granny. This, though? This was _worse._

_Is she disgusted? Perplexed? Plainly annoyed? What does she think of me?_

“Nicky, do you think that this bothers Joe?” Andy asked calm and collected, surprising him; he couldn't detect any hint of particular feelings in her voice, which was scary.

“I don't know for certain? I mean, he never said anything, but I guess he's frustrated. No, he _must_ be frustrated. I would be. Who wants to share their bed with such a passive partner?”

“But he didn't complain about it.”

“No, but I mean, we're both, you know, grown up men. He's got his _needs_.”

“Joe's a clever person, though, right? And sensible, too. You said so yourself.” Nicky nodded, frustrated. He didn't need Andy to lecture him on the multiple merits of the man he loved; he knew them all. Still, he'd been the one to broach the subject. “So I'd say that if something was bothering him, he'd address the problem. Don't you think?”

“Yeah, but-”

“He would, indeed, because of all the qualities he has, among which I'd list an unhealthy dose of romanticism, if that's even a quality at all.”

“It is!” he protested. Where was Andy going with this?

“Unless of course he's not as good as you claim. Which, honestly, would be such a disappointment...”

“He _is_! He's all that and even more,” Nicky snapped, immediately coming at Joe's defense, righteous anger boiling in his veins. Joe was that and even more than that, only Nicky was sure that there were not enough words, in this language or any other, which would be enough to describe him. How could Andy even imply anything else?

He raised his eyes to level her with a hard stare, unwilling to hear anyone belittle Joe; he found that she was smirking back at him, a knowing and smug look on her face. What the- Oh. Oh! “ _Oh_.”

_Eloquent, Nicky._

“Yeah, dummy, _oh_ ,” Andy smirked, her hand reaching out to tussle his hair playfully. “Talk to him, Nicky. He'll understand. I don't expect anything less from him, and neither do you, I'd say.”

Nicky, by then blushing even more furiously than before, nodded with emphasis. He was suddenly feeling so stupid, so childish! His embarrassment was reaching previously unknown levels of height. And on top of it all, he'd just almost discussed his sexual life, or lack thereof, with her.

 _Oh sweet baby Jesus, please kill me now_.

“Don't fret it,” Andy came to his rescue. “I never actually told Quynh about this, but I got a terrible case of cold feet _twice_ before I actually managed to ask her out on a date, and _then_ I literally hid in the smelly bathroom of the pub we went to for twenty minutes. I told her I got my period unexpectedly early as an excuse.”

Nicky snorted, “And she believed you?”

“For two hours. Then the lie came to light.”

For all the embarrassment he was feeling, the shame and the feeling of being an idiot, Andy sharing such a personal story with him made him feel a lot better. Nicky laughed out loud.

“Thank you, Andy.”

His shame was still there, but somehow he felt a little less asinine now.

“No need to thank me, when you'll be paying for our lunch _and_ for the slice of chocolate coffee cheesecake I'll bring back home to Quynh,” she grinned.

Nicky smiled. That was such an Andy thing to say. “Fair enough.”

“Good. And, Nicky? Back to the original subject of our talk: you can tell the rest of the team whenever you feel ready – although I guess I'm not the only one who already suspects something's going on, let me warn you.”

Nicky sighed, already defeated.“Booker's got a betting pol going on, doesn't he?”

Andy nodded in confirmation.

“Urgh!”

She elbowed at him as they both got up and walked toward the counter.

“Come on, you're only upset because you can't participate,” Andy teased him. “ _I_ , on the other hand, have nothing holding me back.”

Nicky looked back at her, eyes narrowed. A suspicion was creeping into his mind. “You want me to help you win, _cheating_ , don't you?”

“You know me all to well,” she grinned cheerfully, entwining their arms on their way out.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Joe was pleasantly confused when, coming home Saturday at almost four o'clock in the afternoon, the first thing Nicky did instead of greeting him was march toward him and give him the most heated kiss they had yet to exchange so far. There was quite a bit of tongue and it lasted for so long that Joe's knees were actually shaking when they broke apart.

“Not that I'm complaining, but, what was that for?”

Nicky, even more puzzling, only smiled at him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was almost a week later when things threatened to take a turn to the south.

On Friday, after their usual day at the office, they went home for a couple of hours. Later, refreshed and relaxed, and wearing more casual clothes, they went to have dinner with the others in a small dingy restaurant Booker had recently discovered. Joe ha a beer, Nicky a glass of wine. The evening was pleasant and filled with laughter and jokes, work was banned from the conversation, and time flew by. After that, while the others went to grab a drink somewhere else, unworldly, Joe and Nicky decided to head back to the apartment.

Joe was driving and Nicky was humming along an atrocious song on the radio. When it ended, another one came on, and the singer spent almost five minutes moaning obscenely and all but having an orgasm on air. Joe, not a prude in the least, actually gaped. He ondered if that should even be considered a song in the first place, yet he had to admit that some of the things the singer was hinting at were quite arousing. Nicky, next to him, was blushing furiously. When their eyes met, they both burst out laughing like teenagers, breathless and high-pitched.

Then, staring him in the eye, with a look of playfulness on his face, Nicky reached out his hand and rested it above Joe's knees. Much above. All the way up to almost the joint between his hip and leg. They were lucky that he was just then turning into their street, because otherwise he couldn't promise he wouldn't have crashed the car.

Instead, Joe felt himself perk up, his blood flowing fast southward. Nicky turned to stare at the street, but his hand remained where it was and, as Joe's muscles moved as he pressed on the pedals and parked the car, its presence was like a hot-rod in a quiet conservative neighborhood of old folks. Utterly bold and decidedly conspicuous.

It rode up, and it was all but cupping him by the time Joe turned off the car and pulled the key from the injection, turning, facing Nicky.

“Let's go upstairs?” he asked in a voice so low and rough it was barely recognizable as his own.

They were up on their floor in the blink of an eye. Stumbling trough the front door, their mouths pressed against each other and Joe found himself pinned between the hard wood of the door and Nicky's hot and firm body. He didn't know when Nicky ended and he began; their legs were intertwined and they were gripping each other's jackets. Nicky's hand found it's way to his curls and tugged at them; Joe moaned in his mouth. Their kiss deepened, somehow, and they were flush against one another.

Then, Nicky shifted and Joe felt it, a hardness that mirrored his own against his hip, insistent and delicious in its pressing against him through their clothes. He groaned loudly, and Nicky moaned. Joe angled his knee outward and his hips found Nicky's lower belly; his own erection throbbed painfully in his pants, constricted by the layers of fabric between their flesh. He thrust forward, they both groaned.

“Are you sure about this?” he panted against Nicky's hair as the man lowered his head and nipped at his neck.

“Positive. Very positive,” Nicky gasped in reply, hot puffs of hair making Joe shiver.

Still kissing, they navigated around the furniture of the living room and found their way to the bed. Nicky's legs found it and he overbalanced and fell backwards, Joe's fingers still closed around the hem of his jacket pulling him down with Nicky himself. He landed half on top of him, and their eyes met. Nicky's pale ones were liquid in the low light of the room, so big and so expressive, and completely dark with arousal and want. He was flushed, his lips plush and red. He was the picture of sex. Joe would be willing to pay thousands of pounds to draw him.

Joe let out a moan. “Fuck. If only you could see yourself right now.”

“I can see you, and that's all I need,” Nicky replied, pulling him in for another kiss, this one slower but just as heartfelt.

Joe pushed himself up on his elbow, one of Nicky's legs between his own, and they lazily kissed, both trying to catch their breaths. He caressed Nicky's jawline and smiled softly as he let out a low moan. He wished to commit every sound, every look in his memory, and to never forget them. His fingers physically itched with the desire to draw him, yet he knew he would never make him justice; such beauty was impossible to capture on paper.

“You're beautiful,” he said.

Nicky blushed, biting his lip. He shook his head, but Joe silenced his protests with a kiss before they could be voiced.

Their kiss deepened again, and after a particularly delicious tug of his curls, he thrust his hips forward, against Nicky's leg, unable to help himself. Nicky moaned, loud, and all but smashed their noses together. He let out a frustrated groan, pulling on Joe's jacket with his other hand, letting his knees fall lax apart, undulating his pelvis. They humped like over-excited dogs against one another, the friction delicious but not even remotely enough. Nicky's sounds became frustrated, he tugged at his jacket and Joe took the hint.

“Bossy,” he teased, and Nicky smirked.

Breaking apart, he half sat up to pull off his jacket and the shirt he'd been wearing under it, and unbuttoned his trousers. He kicked them down and actually managed to free one of his calves and a feet; the fabric remained around the other one, but he didn't even notice, too busy staring at Nicky.

The Italian had discarded his own jacket and the cardigan he'd been wearing under it, but he'd kept on his simple gray t-shirt. He was now busy unbuttoning his own trousers and, much in the same fashion as Joe's, he kicked them off, showing an impressive bulge in his black boxer briefs.

Joe could swear that, where the tip of his penis was visible, there already was a wet spot.

“Good God,” Nicky breathed, staring back at Joe with big round eyes, pupils blown and only a small ring of pale indefinite green around them. Now it was Joe's turn to blush: he was quite sure that his own excitement could be easily seen, thanks to his white and very tight underwear.

Nicky's cock all but visibly twitched.

“Fuck,” Joe groaned again, surging forward, capturing Nicky's mouth in his once again.

He climbed between Nicky's legs, pressing themselves together, their pelvis grinding lusciously, and he thrust up and down, undulating, moving a little in circle. Nicky panted beneath him, and Joe reached out a hand to caress him, because he was beautiful, he was perfect, and they had never done this before but his was all Joe'd always dreamed of, and it had been worth every minute of the wait. They kissed once more, and Joe lowered his arm, sneaking it between them, cupping Nicky's hardness.

“Oh!”

Nicky's eyes were screwed shut, back slightly arched, neck all the way exposed. If he looked like that now, Joe couldn't imagine what he would be like later. The thought made him shiver. He had to breathe through his nose in order to calm down a bit – otherwise, this would be over all too soon.

Nicky inhaled deeply, muttering some profanity. Joe bit his lip and all pushed his hand inside Nicky's briefs, the fabric threatening to snap and tear.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, yes,” Nicky moaned, throwing back his head. His nails scraped Joe's back enough to leave raised skin in their wake.

Joe took a hold of his flesh, so hard, and pumped it a couple of times. The fabric was too constricting to allow him a sufficient range of movements, but the sensation was intoxicating. Nicky's hand found Joe's front too, and mirroring him, he cupped him through his underwear, teasing. Joe moaned, breathless. This was better than any dream his very fervent, very vivid imagination had managed to conjure – and he'd imagined this moment way more times than he was willing to admit.

After a while, Joe pulled his hand back and away, grabbed the hem of Nicky's briefs, and tugged lightly downward, looking at Nicky in the eye. Nicky stared back as he reached to cup Joe's ass and hooked his own fingers in Joe's underwear. They pulled down simultaneously, moaning, panting, hot yet shivering.

Joe had to take a deep breath to calm down as their shafts, finally free, touched. Nicky caressed his eyebrow and his curls with one hand, while the other sneaked back down to his front and gently but firmly grabbed his cock, applying just the correct amount of pressure to make him see stars. Joe closed his eyes, his hips snapped forward, jerking fast into the warmth of Nicky's hand, against those skilled fingers.

_Fuck. I'm gonna come like this._

Joe's left hand reached out fast as lightening as soon as the thought formed in his mind and grabbed Nicky's own, pulling it up over his head, holding him there; any more touches would be the end of him, he knew. And he didn't want this to end like this.

And that's when something changed.

Joe felt it before he understood what was going on. All of a sudden, Nicky wasn't pliant and willing and enthusiastic under his ministrations anymore. Instead of aroused and responsive, his body seemed to sag, stilling beneath him, tensing. His moaning quieted immediately and his eyes snapped open, staring at him, liquid and pale. Then, Nicky's free hand, the one that had been cupping Joe's face, moved and landed on his pectorals, pushing against his muscles, silently telling him to pull back.

Joe stilled, himself. He moved his hand away, eyes widening. Immediately he pulled back, pushing himself on his arms, towering over Nicky, and looked back at the man on the bed with wide eyes. His heart was beating fast, all the excitement leaving his body. His erection began deflating; he noticed Nicky's was alreaady gone, too. On Nicky's forehead was a thin layer of sweat, and he had become pale, eyes still staring at him and a look of abject remorse filling them.

“Nicky?” Joe's voice sounded high-pitched, trembling. “What- what's wrong?”

He reached out to touch his face, and Nicky let him. He actually turned his head against his palm and placed a gentle, innocent kiss against his palm before he pulled back. The fact the touch was welcomed slightly relieved Joe, but as soon as the contact was broken, he felt cold and small.

“Fuck,” Nicky muttered, cheeks growing red.

Joe sat back on his heels, leaving Nicky free to move; he immediately scooted backwards until his back was against the corner of the two walls, against which his bed was positioned. He sat up and brought his knees up under his chin and hugged them, looking small and even a bit silly in only his t-shirt and stupidly colorful socks. He looked at Joe and then he lowered his face against his wrists and his shoulders twitched. Joe saw his ears becoming scarlet.

Joe stood frozen on the spot, brain short-circuiting.

Still not understanding but straining to comprehend, to pinpoint what exactly had caused the mood to shift so fast and so completely, he cursed softly under his breath. Regaining his bearings, he felt dread raise in his chest. He fished around for his shirt and put it on, not bothering to button it up. He had no doubt that the evening wouldn't progress as they had been expecting it to, but there were more urgent matters to care of, now. He found his briefs on the floor and pulled them up too. He debated whether to silently handle Nicky his owns to cover up, but feared the gesture would come off as humiliating.

Joe screwed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. He held it like he'd read on one of the website he'd consulted when Nicky'd first come here and then he let it out slowly, all the while hyper-aware of the silent figure hunched up on itself in the corner. Finally a bit more centered, Joe crawled forward and sat down next to the other man with his own back against one wall. He made sure to keep his distance but he also made a point to have his calf brush against Nicky's, to wordlessly tell him that he was here for him, to face whatever this was that was bothering him. Joe debated touching him, holding him, but he didn't know if his touch would be welcomed now. The thought stung.

The Italian, still, didn't raise his head from his arms, and Joe could hear soft sniffles and low mutterings in between shaking breaths. He detected a couple of swears he'd grown pretty familiar with ever since Nicky'd come here. He was fairly sure that Nicky wasn't crying, but this was still a meltdown of some sort and he didn't know what to do, didn't know that had caused it.

What had promised to be a wonderful night had now become one of Joe's worst nightmares, and he didn't know how to handle the situation. What had gone wrong? What had triggered this sudden mood shift?

_What have I done to hurt him like this?_

Joe's hands were sweaty and cold.

“Nicky,” he tried. It came out choked and pitiful, and Joe had to clear his throat and try again. “Nicky?”

He Italian didn't raise his head from his arms, but made a rough, questioning sound that meant that he was listening.

_Good. That's... that's good._

“Can I touch you?” he asked, almost more for his own sake than Nicky's; he _needed_ to feel him, to touch him. After their intimacy and closeness of a few moments before, he was unhinged, cold, and scared.

Nicky, surprisingly enough, nodded. Tentatively, Joe put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed them gently. Nicky let out a soft breath and his body leaned on the right, tucking itself against Joe's side. As their skins touched, Joe let out a quiet breath. He moved his hand up and down Nicky's shoulder, which was getting cold, and used the opportunity to push him even further against his side.

“What's wrong, Nicky? What happened?”

Nicky sucked in a deep breath, shook his head, whimpered.

“Did- did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” Nicky croaked with force. His voice sounded a bit chocked, like he was fighting against his throat closing. “No, you didn't- You – I-” he hiccuped, confused.

“I didn't mean it, Nicky, whatever I did, I swear to everything that's holy that I didn't want to hurt you,” Joe pleaded desperately.

Nicky raised his head, eyes pale and sad, cheeks red. Joe hated seeing Nicky like that, and it seemed that, for all their moving forward, for all their attempts at normalcy, something was always lurking there in the shadows, ready to push him over the edge once more. Tonight was just more proof of it, and Joe felt a sudden tiredness creep into his bones; ever since the beginning he'd known it wouldn't be easy, but this was more than he'd expected.

Just as he felt himself slip into despair, Nicky reached out one hand to cup his cheek. Joe turned his face and kissed his palm softly, mirroring Nicky's gesture of a few minutes prior.

“You didn't do anything Joe. I swear. I mean it,” Nicky whispered with a trembling voice, yet forcefully. He held eye contact to drive the point home better. “You're perfect. It's me, I'm an idiot, I- I ruin everything.”

“You don't.”

“I do!” Nicky cried, rage in his words.

He was glaring holes in the wall next to him, careful not to face him now. Joe knew that, along with the struggling and the depression, with the self-esteem issues and the crippling bouts of sadness, trauma sometimes expressed itself in anger. He'd read that it was actually a natural stage to cross through. The thought didn't really comfort him now, even if it was a rational explanation of at least a small part of the situation.

“What's all this about?” Joe asked, voice low, aiming for calmness.

“I overreacted. I knew you would never- but my brain, it went back to all those times when- and I had to stop, and I ruined our perfect night! I have been waiting for it for a _long_ time, and I know you did too, and I went and _ruined_ it, because- because-”

“Nicky, light of my life,” Joe murmured, holding Nicky close and kissing his head in an attempt to calm him down, since he was getting worked up. “You have not ruined our night. We will have others. The only thing that matters is that you are okay, that I didn't hurt you-”

“You didn't! I knew you wouldn't.”

“Never. I swear.”

“I _know_! That's the point. I know, and I was still such an idiot!”

Joe frowned, confused.

“I don't- What is all this about?” he asked, striving to understand.

“It's about you!” Nicky sounded angry and upset. Joe's eyes widened and his whole body jerked. “It's about you being a living dream, it's about you never wanting to hurt me, it's about you _not being him_!”

_What?_

“I really don't understand. Is that... bad?”

“It's about you, stopping, when he never did.”

Joe's eyes widened. Oh.

_Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no._

“Nicky-”

“I didn't fall down the stairs!” Nicky roared, cutting him off. It was the first time since he'd known him that he was raising his voice. Joe held him a little tighter, for once disregarding the ribs that sometimes still troubled him. “He beat me. He'd been beating me for months. It started with a slap, I have to admit that I riled him up, and he snapped. He was instantly sorry. I was, too. He apologized and he cried and I felt bad for him. It didn't happen again for months; when it did, he apologized once more. And again, some time went by before he punched me, and he said that I made him do it; then, again, for a while, everything was fine before it wasn't, only the intervals kept shortening more and more, and at some point, it was every day, every single day, and not because we were fighting or because I pissed him off, but for the smallest, stupidest things. They would set him off.”

Wetness falling on his tights made Joe aware that he had begun crying. He passed one hand around his eyes, and it came off wet with his tears. Nicky, next to him, punched the mattress, eyes perfectly dry and so dark, so angry. The shadown under them made them seem deeper, more sinister.

“And then- then it became something else, a form of oppression, a way of forcing submission on me, I don't know, only one night we had dinner and we fooled on my sofa and he got rough, and I tried to push him away but he didn't stop, he slapped me and I- I don't know, I dissociated, I was there but I _really wasn't_ , and he did what he had to and when he was done he kissed me and he went home. Sometimes it was like that, and after a while it was okay, I think, it was okay because it was _better_ than the other times, the ones when he would force himself upon me no matter what.”

Joe tried to choke back a sob. He failed miserably. His tears burned as they fell down his cheeks and he felt like he would burn down the whole world right there and then if only he was given the choice. He had known, obviously, intellectually he had known, but he had not completely _understood_ ; now, he did and he felt such fury, such hurt. Hurt at the thought of Nicky being hurt, hurt at the thought that he himself had been hurt by reflection.

“And now, even when he's not here, the memories are! I am tired of living like this, Joe. I want to be free to love you without feeling like this. I want to love you like you deserve,” Nicky cried, punching the mattress again, only now Joe could see wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“Nicky I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry,” he said, voice trembling. The first bitter tear fell from Nicky's eyes. “Let it out, love. It's better this way, don't bottle it all up. Let it out.”

“I was so weak, I let him do all that to me, I always found an excuse even when his behavior was inexcusable, and because of by foolishness now I am hurting you, and I can't stand it.”

Joe kissed his hair and closed his eyes, his heart swelling in his chest. Kind-hearted, lovely Nicky, so broken yet so strong, so altruistic even in his pain.

“I love you,” Joe found himself saying.

Nicky shook his head minutely. “You deserve someone who can love you better than me, Joe.”

“Don't say that,” Joe pleaded him. “Let me be the judge, the one to choose what I want. And I want you, Nicky, and nobody else.”

“No,” Nicky shook his head, frowning. “You don't want someone who snaps because you hold their wrists above their head. They'll never make you happy. I'll never make you happy.”

Ah, so _that_ was what had caused all this. It made perfect sense, in light of Nicky's latest revelations, for he had no doubt that the associations Nicky's mind could make were unpleasant at best, horrendous and painful at worst. How stupid had Joe been, not thinking of how the gesture could come off; of course his suspects had never been confirmed before, but the story behind Nicky's sexual shyness was pretty easy to guess.

Joe wouldn't allow him to think of himself as undeserving in any way.

“I _do_ want them,” Joe murmured. “For they make me happier than I've ever been in my life. They make by hearth burst with joy every time they smile at me and there is nothing else, _nobody else_ , I would ever, _ever_ wish for.”

Joe took Nicky's chin in his free hand and gently maneuvered him so that he was facing him. Nicky's eyes were still dark and cast low; Joe hunched a bit, craned his neck some more, and forced himself in front of them, amazed as always by their color and the emotions they showed, like an open book for him to read. When finally they locked into Joe's one, he moved forward slowly and gently, chastely put his lips on Nicky's for a moment. His tears mingled with Nicky's own.

“I love you more than words can describe. You make me the luckiest man in the world and I will always cherish and protect you. I don't care how long it will take, I will always wait for you. You're worth that and so much more,” Joe murmured.

Nicky let out a choked sob as tears fell down his cheeks, and he moved forward, vigorously kissing him, his hands latching on his shirt. He hugged him hard, almost cutting Joe's breath off. He didn't mind.

“I'm so sorry Joe. I'm so sorry. I love you, too.”

Joe smiled against his lips. “I know,” he murmured .

Against him, Nicky's skin was cold and he pulled him down, pushing the covers on the side as they laid side by side, and then up over them both.

“I really wanted to do it,” Nicky murmured, sleepily. He was blushing adorably. Joe smiled a bit.

“I know. I did, too. We will have more opportunities, though,” Joe reassured him with a kiss. “But maybe we will talk about it beforehand, mhh? See what we are both comfortable – or not comfortable – with, in order to avoid any more triggers. What do you say?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Nicky muttered. “I'm still sorry for tonight.”

“We will have others. Many others.”

“Promise?” Nicky slurred, before he drifted off, surely exhausted by the events of the evening.

“Promise,” Joe sighed, closed his eyes, and followed him suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you if you made it so far.
> 
> I hope this chapter wasn't too disappointing. I felt the need to write about a theme whose importance I dearly hold at heart: consent related to sexual intimacy. And, because of the importance of this subject, I actually found myself unable to write what I really wanted to. Ironic, isn't it? This chapter is the closest approximation I could give you, it's the best I could do, but it's not what I actually wanted.
> 
> You see, as I said in the beginning notes, this chapter was updated late because of many reasons. I could tell yo I had a stressful month at home, since it's very true. I could tell you that I work a lot, which is true. I could also tell you that I had to work while quarantined, because my colleague was found positive to Covid, which is also true. And I could tell you that for the past two years I have been studying Russian very seriously (it's the third foreign language I can now speak and read, and I love it) and at the beginning of January I decided to add a second course to the one I'm taking, this one particularly focused on Russian for business, and that it's very hard, which is also true.
> 
> But none of those are the real, core reasons that blocked me. They slowed me down, but they weren't the main obstacle to overcome. You see, while I wanted to speak about consent and mostly about the recovery from sexual abuse suffered while in a stable relationship, I couldn't do it, because I myself have yet to do it completely. How could I write about something I can't seem to do? About something i can't leave behind no matter how long it's been? 
> 
> Let me be clear, my situation wasn't nearly as bad as Nicky's or as the ones of many people out there. Not nearly by far. Some days, I even question myself and what happened, because I'm not really sure it could count as abuse. Still, on an emotional level, I connect my experiences with this particulat term (sexual abuse), and my memories of it are very sad, very disappointing, and sometimes even painful. And since I have yet to move on, I couldn't write about it as I wished to. I lacked the emotional detachement that I needed.
> 
> Maybe, someday, I will add a short story to the series I want to write, and I will explore this theme better. Maybe, by then, I will be able to. But for now, this chapter is the best I could so. I hope it is enough.
> 
> I will see you in about 3 weeks (I hope) with the final epilogue.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be updated every two weeks (indicatively).  
> The second and third chapter are already written, while the fourth and fifth still don't have a defined shape. I foresee a total of five to seven chapters, depending on how the story evolves as well as on the time I'll have to write it.
> 
> If you wish to leave kudos or a review, you'll make me very happy.  
> I'm also un tumblr: https://icedrifter.tumblr.com/


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